


Stray

by ethotlliot (eggpainter)



Category: DreamWasTaken - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, dream - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Blood and Injury, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Slow Burn, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28516719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggpainter/pseuds/ethotlliot
Summary: A masked man covered in blood in a dirty basement during a zombie apocalypse.What could go wrong?Dreamwastaken | Dream x ReaderPost-apocalyptic AU
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Reader
Comments: 239
Kudos: 621





	1. Basement

I can be pretty fucking dumb.

Let me elaborate.

There was a parasitic disease that broke out, quickly driving people rabid, transferred through bite. Zombies I guess, for lack of a better term, though that makes me roll my eyes. Our government, everyone's governments, in all their brilliance, came to an agreement to cull their own cities to take out sweeping numbers of the infected. 

It... worked. But it also took out sweeping numbers of the healthy. People that were left alive were devastated, most suffering massive losses. Quickly, there was a revolt that turned into a civil war, wiping out infinitely more. Though, I only know it was successful in dismantling the government here. In some other countries it's better... building a rhythm into a semi-functioning society. That's not the case here. 

America the wasteland. Patriotic.

It's been almost a year since it started, the streets are now silent, cities abandoned and gutted, no longer enough people left to inhabit a single percent of the buildings. There's still the somewhat uncommon stray infected, but practice makes perfect. A single enemy poses no threat when I can cut it down like a stubborn weed. The threat rapidly became other people and whatever the fuck they wanted with you. It's a list of disgusting things I don't even want to think about.

All of that is how I ended up here, risking my life, dangling a shitty cat carrier as I stumble around in post-apocalyptic debris, the world's dumbest human looking for the world's dumbest cat.

As I said, I can be pretty fucking dumb.

I click my tongue, "Bear, Bear, here sweetie!" I call out into the deserted street, scanning the rubble for any small furry form. 

I swear under my breath. Ugh, cats. Can't convince them to do anything they don't want, especially to stay in one place. Luckily for me, I left the second the city started to tear itself apart from the inside out, mere hours before total societal collapse. Unluckily for me, Bear is— was— is an inside-outside cat. The day it happened, he happened to be outside.

The second news broke I grabbed what I could and fled to shack up with my family, my step-brother George and my baby brother Nick. They were running a small organic farm deep in the countryside. My throat tightens, feeling like an idiot, feeling like I could've waited just a little longer and been able to leave with Bear. I blink as I see a dart of mottled brown and white fur, snapping back to focus. 

"Bear, is that you baby? C'mere, c'mon Bear." I coo out, dropping to my knees with an extended hand. 

The fur darts in the opposite direction, right into a house in shambles. I sigh, kicking a rock, and follow. 

Fucking cats.

I tip-toe my way inside, cautiously testing the creaky floorboards for sturdiness as I slip my way in. All I can hope is that this building doesn't crumble in the few minutes I need to explore it. I make my way deeper into the house, down a hallway. I catch another flash of fur in the corner of my eye.

I turn my head, not fast enough, and barely catch a glimpse of the backside of a cat racing down a set of stairs. I approach cautiously, gulping as I reach the top of the stairs leading down into a dingy basement. I groan. 

I don't want to go down there.

I jerk my legs, building my bravery. No stone unturned. As quietly as I can, I start to make my way down the stairs into a basement where I could definitely die. A price I'm willing to pay for maybe my cat, apparently. I steady my breathing as I descend, smelling the regular smells of basement, damp and dust, tinged with the not-so-regular metallic smell of blood. 

I draw my knife, keeping my eyes peeled. I follow along a wall, turning into the depths of the basement. My eyes take a moment to adjust, blinking in the darkness. I pause as my eyes land on the scene in front of me.

Well— I found the cat. It isn't Bear. And, it's sitting on what looks to be a corpse, a fresh one at that, propped against a wall. I grimace as I swallow the bile in my throat, and step forward. I'm desensitized to some gore, I have to be, but... this is...

Suddenly, what I thought was a corpse twitches, gloved hand weakly lifting to bury in the fur of the Bear look-a-like planted in it's— his lap. 

I dare a step forward, eyes quickly studying the figure. He's covered head to toe, face covered by a bone white mask. The rest of his body is covered in some type of padded gear, all black except where it's torn, revealing bloodied skin. He's chained to the wall behind him by a metal collar around his neck. His wrists are also shackled together by a metal chain. I notice blood on the wall behind him, and assume it's his. 

"H-hey—" I stutter out, about to ask the figure if he's okay. 

The second I make the noise his face snaps toward me and he rises to his full height. Stirred, the cat jumps from his lap and runs back up the stairs. I follow it with my eyes, wondering if I should say forget it and do the same. But, something pangs in my heart. I turn back to the man, cautiously curious.

"Are you okay?" I ask, lifting a hand as a peace offering. 

He immediately walks toward me in complete silence as I stumble back with a yelp. He gets close, but the chain pulls against his throat, taut, keeping him back. I brandish my knife at him. 

"Stay the fuck back." I spit out, like he could even get closer. 

He pauses for a second, then, as though listening, limps back to the wall. I furrow my brow, trying to determine if he's a threat or just stupid. I wet my lip, brain stuttering as it searches for the question to ask. I'm ripped from my thoughts by heat at my back and an arm around my neck. 

"How the fuck did you find—" a voice starts to ask, but I swing my arm down, stabbing my knife into whatever flesh I can find and twist. 

I hear the detached voice shout in pain as I kick out, creating distance between us. I turn to look at my attacker, seeing a stocky man, dressed in gear similar to the man chained to the wall. Though, he has no mask. 

"You stupid little bitch." The man spits out, charging at me before I can convince myself to move.

I'm knocked to the floor by the man. I swing at him with my knife again, but he's prepared this time, catching my wrist in a bruising grip. I grunt, singularly focused on stabbing this man as I fight against his hold.

I let out a wild noise, realizing I'm in a losing position, jerking my head back as the weight of this man keeps me pinned the ground. He's over powering me, slowly turning the knife in on my throat. I close my eyes and grit my teeth, accepting that I'm about to die for a stupid, stupid, cat, when suddenly, the weight is lifted off of me. I blink my eyes open, scrambling back on the floor as I desperately try to catch my breath. 

The chained man has my attacker restrained, using the chain tied around his wrists to choke him as he drags him back, away from me. I watch as the other man twitches, hands scrambling against the chain, choking, face going red. Using my pilfered knife, he swings down, stabbing the chained man in the stomach. The chained man, my savior, grunts, holding tight and jerks his arms. With a sick crack, the other man goes completely limp.

I'm frozen in place, brain still trying to process what's happening as the man drops my attacker. I watch the body crumple, discarded like nothing. My savior limps back to the wall, slumping back down into the puddle of, what I assume is, his own blood. With another grunt, he pulls my knife from his abdomen and drops it to the floor. 

I shoot to my feet, and bolt up the stairs. I need to get out now. As I reach the top of the stairs I hesitate. 

Fuck. Do not do it.

I will my feet to move, to no avail. 

Leave it. 

My heart pounds. 

He helped me. 

I punch the wall and turn back, swinging my backpack off my shoulder. I want to beat my own head in with a bat as I walk straight for the back wall. Against my better judgement, I drop to my knees in front of the man, close enough that he could grab me and snap my neck, too.

"I'm only here to help." I warn, crawling up to him. 

I swallow around my tongue as he stays eerily still. I pull my utility knife from my backpack, cutting around the fabric of the wound so I can see what I'm working with. It's... not good. I pull a bottle of rubbing alcohol from my bag. 

"I'm so sorry about this." I warn, just as I tip the bottle, pouring alcohol onto the wound. 

I expect him to scream, shout, react, anything. But he sits there, silent, still. I pray to whatever God is listening and dress his wound with cotton, gauze, and whatever else I can dig out of my bag. Once finished with that, my eyes dart across the rest of the obvious wounds dotting his stomach. I hesitate for a moment before I grab the edge of his shirt, pushing it up so I can properly assess the him. Finally, he reacts. The man flinches away from the touch, pushing me back with an animalistic snarl.

I raise my hands in surrender, letting my voice go soft, "Hey, hey, hey." I start, trying to soothe him. "I'm not gonna hurt you." I say. He stills, and lifts his shirt himself. 

My eyes dart around his stomach, looking at the gashes caked in dried flaking blood and mottled bruises. I suck in a breath, there's no way I'll be able to take care of this here. I bite my tongue, trying to hold myself back from what I'm about to say.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

Why am I so stupid?

"There's a safe place I can take you to tend those wounds. Just tell me yes." I blurt out, even as my brain screams at me to stop. 

The man drops his shirt, and nods, once. I figure that's as much of a yes as I'm going to get, and lean forward again. 

"Let's get this collar off." I say, reaching forward. I falter, remembering how he reacted the last time I touched him. "I need to touch you to take the collar off. I'm not trying to hurt you." I say, keeping my voice even.

I flinch as he leans forward, but quickly realize he's just trying to present the collar to me. I reach into my bag for bolt cutters as I lean forward and press my fingers to the back of his neck, looking at the locking mechanism. I realize quickly, to my dismay, the collar is not just a collar. The mechanism is also keeping the mask... thing, locked to his head. I swear under my breath and lean back, digging through my bag with a new focus. I pull out lock picks and take a steadying breath. 

"Bear with me, here." I say into the silence. 

I may as well be talking to a wall, but I keep yapping. I give myself the excuse that it's to soothe him, but really, I know it's for me. I fumble with the lock, struggling to make any real progress. I realize that this may be a skill to improve, as my amateur fingers work the pick. I suck in my bottom lip, singularly focused on the lock when I finally feel it click. I sigh in relief. I honestly had a lot of doubt I would be able to do it. 

I drop the picks back into my bag and immediately slide my fingers under the mask, helping the man pull it off. I blink in surprise, feeling my stomach turn as the mask is lifted, freeing him from the wall. Under the mask, I see he's blindfolded. Not just that, but muzzled as well.

I have a moment of nerves as my brain questions what type of person would collar and muzzle another human like a rabid dog, then I jump to what a person would have to do to be treated like that. I shake the thought from my head, fear settling low in my stomach. I drop the helmet and shift back, watching as the man's hands immediately shoot up to pull off the blindfold. 

He blinks, bright eyes adjusting to the light. His eyes sweep the room first, like he's looking for something to jump out of the shadows and kill us before he finally looks at me. I suck in a breath through my teeth, instinctively reaching forward to brush my thumb against his puffy bruised cheek. As could be expected, he flinches, jerking his head away. I feel my heart lurch in sympathy as the fear flashes in his eyes at my my touch. 

Who did this to you? 

I take a heavy breath, meeting his eyes.

"Stay still. I'm taking the muzzle off." I say.

I lift my hands, careful, as I reach behind his head and undo the clasps. I lift the muzzle off of him as he raises his head, looking back at me, completely unresponsive. 

I grab a bottle of water from my bag, uncap it, and hold it out like an offering. He takes it in both of his hands, and drinks, gulping down the water like he hasn't drank in days. Which, when looking at him, could be true. Once the bottle is empty he drops it, still silent. I roll my eyes. 

You're welcome. 

I move to pat his arm in an aborted motion, stopping myself short. I retract my hand and rock to my feet. 

"Can you stand?" I ask as I dip to grab my knife and wipe off the blood on my pant leg.

He braces himself and lifts to his height. Standing right next to him, I finally take in how big he is, somewhere between a half a foot to a foot taller than me. I consider the cuffs for a moment, then consider his size, and decide to leave them on. 

He confidently takes a step forward, and nearly folds in half. I shoot my arms out to support him, though I don't do much, nearly crushed under his weight. 

"Hold on." I choke out, guiding him to support himself on the wall.

He pants out, propped on the wall, eyes darting around the room as I step back. I raise my brows, collecting my backpack and carrier. I choose to not acknowledge that I've gotten myself into this situation over a cat.

I step up next to him, reaching out, "I'm going to help you walk." I say, and close the distance, threading my arm around his waist. 

He flinches initially, then leans into it, letting me help. We start slow, me carefully guiding him to the stairs. He starts to support himself more and more, seemingly getting used to the pain. I help him up the stairs, then immediately get tripped by the cat from earlier. 

I glare at it. You again. 

I sigh, crouching down, and drop the carrier. The cat confidently strides forward, pawing at the door of the crate. 

"If you insist." I say, and open the door of the carrier. The cat hops in, better than every cat I've ever owned, like it knows exactly where it's going. "Oh so now you wanna behave." I whisper out, talking to the cat.

I look up to see the man staring at me, uncomfortably close, and jump back, "Jesus— back up." I say, chastising. I duck my head, feeling embarrassed as I lift the crate with an exhale. "Ugh. You're a chubby little thing." I say, still talking to the cat, probably looking like a lunatic.

Whatever. I just watched this man kill someone. I'm allowed to be a bit of a freak.

I reach my arm back out, beckoning for the man to take it. He looks at it, dragging his eyes down me, then limps forward on his own. I can't help that I roll my eyes, scrunching my face up. I jog to catch up until I'm in front of him, guiding him along the trudge back. 

Once we reach my car I coo, "I didn't die, baby." I say in a singsong voice, slapping the hood of the beat-to-shit station wagon. 

I swing open the back door, carefully loading in the cat carrier and my backpack and close it back up. As I close the door the man appears, standing close, staring at me in silence. I jump back, before sighing and dragging a hand down my face. 

"We need to work on that." I say, pointing an accusing finger at him, then swinging it at the car. "Get in." I say. 

The man blinks at me, then turns to stare at the car without moving. I hesitate, furrowing my brow. Is this... is this a joke? Is he fucking with me? I look up at the sky, eyes catching on the setting sun. We don't have time for this. I slide closer, trying to have faith, and point at the handle. 

"You... pull that to open the door... and then climb inside." I say, searching his face, as I mime the motion. 

His expression stays blank as he nods once, then follows my instructions. My mouth gapes as he closes the door behind him, brow furrowing in disbelief. I lift my hand to my forehead, rubbing my temples and blinking. Okay, this is... fine. I shake what I'm feeling and round the car, hopping into the driver's seat.

I turn the key, mouth curling into a smile as the engine stutters to life. I back out, and start the hour long trip home. The atmosphere inside of the vehicle is tense, silence suddenly much more overwhelming in close quarters. I gnaw my lip, awkwardly staring out at the road, scanning attentively. 

"That was certainly something, back there." I say with an awkward laugh, sparing the man a glance. I get no response in return, just him staring blankly ahead. I blow out a sigh.

"C'mon, you gotta give me something." I glance at him and swallow, barreling on, "A grunt, a nod, a shake, maybe even a blink..." I glance over again, just in time to watch his head tilt forward as he slumps in his seat, limp. 

I reach over and slap his arm, panic building in my stomach. He doesn't so much as stir. I lift my hand to his face, just to make sure he's alive. I pull it back the second I feel a warm exhale.

Fuck. Okay, might as well.

I step on the gas. Time to cut 55 minutes to 40. 

***

I make it back to the farm in a record 35. I feel myself shaking as I park, and hop out immediately. I go straight for the backseat, collecting the cat carrier and my backpack. I glance at the man one more time. 

"Hold on." I say, like he can hear me.

I jog for the front door of the farmhouse, but get intercepted on the porch by a pissed looking Nick and a worried looking George. 

"It's almost dark—" George starts, crossing his arms, but Nick interrupts. 

"What fucking took you so long?" Nick asks.

I brandish the cat like an offering. "I caught a stray, Bubs." I say to him. I purse my lips and turn to the car, hoping they're following my motion. 

"Uhhh... I caught two strays, Bubs." I say.

I turn back, watching both of their expressions shift as their eyes land on the man. Nick turns to glare at me, grabbing my arm and yanking me up onto the porch. I try my best to soothe him with a smile, but probably just look crazy. 

"A stranger?" Nick bites out.

I laugh awkwardly. I'm in danger. 

"Nicky— listen he—" I start, but get interrupted.

"A stranger?" He repeats, low, dangerous.

I hold the cat carrier in front of my face, like a shield.

"He saved my life!" I shout back, sounding extraordinarily whiney. 

"Nick—" George warns.

I look up to see him eyeing the man carefully. With George on my side, I'm safe again. I lower the cat filled carrier. 

Before he can keep speaking, a violent wretch interrupts the conversation. George and Nick's heads both snap up, and I spin on my heel, just in time to watch the man hang out of my car and vomit blood before immediately slumping back down. I turn back to face my brothers with wide eyes. 

George tilts his head. "Nick, he's in bad shape, we can patch him up and send him away right after."

Nick spits on the ground, clenching his jaw. "What if this guy tries something? Did either of you consider that?" He says, looking tense. 

I'm about to open my mouth and tear Nick a new one when George stops me with a glare. 

"If he does, we'll beat his ass." He says, eyes darting over to me. 

I catch the cue and lean in, grabbing Nick's hand, "Yeah Nicky, you guys will take care of it if there's any issues." I say, egging him on. 

I watch Nick swallow, then roll his eyes, shrugging my hold off, before raising his hands in surrender. 

"Fine. Fine. Okay." He says, relenting. 

George and I catch eyes, smiling at each other as Nick stomps off to the car. 

"Thanks." I say to him, trying to let my appreciation shine through in my eyes. 

I turn my head as Nick speaks again. 

"Oh Bubs, you're soo strong! Take care of me! Here's a strange man! Wah wah wah!" He says, mocking me. 

The corners of my mouth twitch, "If you keep dragging your feet, he'll be dead anyways." I shout back. I laugh as George hits my arm, chastising me. 

Nick looks back, just long enough to curl his lip at me, then finishes stomping forward. George and I do nothing but watch as Nick lifts the man against his chest with a low grunt, arms flexing. 

"Why? Why did you have find the biggest fucking man this side of the Mississippi." He grits out. 

I can't help my laugh, watching Nick drag the man up to the house like a sack of potatoes. I figure I might be coping poorly with the experiences I've had today. George props open the door and I step out of the way. Nick huffs a breath, lifting the man up the stairs. 

"Thanks for the help! Useless assholes." He says, letting his arms flex a little extra hard. 

I watch as Nick finishes dragging the man inside, straight for an empty bed, George following him in. I stand there blinking, trying to process what just happened. I only have a moment of peace before I hear a croaking mewl, and remember the cat. I lift the carrier to my face, looking the animal dead in the eyes. 

"You. This is all your fault." I say to the cat as it stares blankly back at me. 

I drop to a crouch with the carrier, and open it, extending my hands for the cat. The cat steps out of the crate, twitching its tail. It looks back at me making grabby hands for it, and turns away, striding into the house. 

I blink, watching the cat walk away. That's... about how my day is going, I guess. I drag a hand down my face, raising back to my feet, and head inside.


	2. Growing Pains

I'm sitting on the couch, staring at the words in the open book I'm pretending to read. My leg is jittering, bouncing with nervous energy, same as it has been for hours.

I'm pulled from my unfocused focus by Nick poking his head over the banister and calling my name. My head perks up and I swallow nervously as he curls his fingers, finally beckoning me up to the room where they've been working on the man. 

I shoot up from the couch, dropping the book and walk over, chewing my thumbnail. I run up the stairs and step into the room carefully, taking in the scene. The man is in bed, arms lifted, triple zip tied above his head. The stupid cat is curled up at his feet. He's shirtless now, looking semi-washed. Someone must have sponged the blood off of him. 

His cuts are stitched or bandaged. Without the blood to cover it, I notice he has tons of small scars, most almost imperceptible, though some are raised and more obvious. George is sitting in an office chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hands in a pair of latex gloves. 

"I did what I could." George starts, then sucks in a breath, "But your little— big— friend here looks like he got hit by a truck and dragged for a mile." He says.

I laugh nervously, "Yeah, it's possible. You don't even wanna know how or where I found him." I say, searching his face. Knocked out like this he looks a lot more... relaxed. 

Nick comes up behind me, resting his arm on my shoulder. "Well, now I'm curious. How did you find him?" He asks. 

I purse my lips, eyes flicking back down to the man. "To make a long story short, I followed this cat—" I start, tapping the cat's forehead with my finger. It lifts its head in response and yawns. "—into an abandoned house. He was tied up in the basement covered in blood. Some random guy attacked me and..." I hesitate, holding my tongue for just a moment. "I stabbed him and almost got stabbed back. Then this guy—" I dare to brush my fingers against the man, "—uh... snapped his neck." I say, finishing.

George blinks at me in shock and Nick speaks. "Sounds like something you'd get yourself into." He says, patting my shoulder, sounding oddly proud. George looks back down at the man, with something a little softer in his eyes before springing to his feet. 

"Anyways." George starts, and strides over, lifting my hands and slapping a bottle of antiseptic in my palm. "Your decision. Your problem. Put this on his exposed cuts every four hours." He slaps my shoulder. "Call me when he wakes up. I need to go pass out." He says, and steps out of the room. 

Nick steps away from me as well with and pats the same shoulder. "Good luck." He says, following George out of the room.

I sigh, watching them go, before I finally flick my gaze back down to the man with an odd tenderness. He did save my life but... God is he unreadable. I let myself explore his body with my eyes, seeking out all of the wounds so I can see exactly how much time this is going to take. 

As I get closer, studying the wounds in more detail, I notice he isn't as clean as I initially gauged. Gross. I know how I would want to be treated were I personally stabbed and dragged off to a farm in the wilderness, and that's with respect. 

I groan as I realize what I'm doing, grabbing a small tub and filling it with warm soapy water. I thank lady luck every day that George and Nick were on a well system with solar electricity. Efficient.

I drag my 'stupid idea' water back over the man, gingerly placing it on a nightstand. I ring the cloth of excess soapy water and lean over, tenderly wiping the blood, sweat, and dirt from his face. 

I start to look at him more closely, nerves building in my stomach. For some reason it was easier to pretend he wasn't a human person before getting so close like this. I don't want to think about the fact that he can vulnerable, at least vulnerable enough to get chained up in a basement and zip-tied to a bed frame.

The more I clean, the more I see. I swipe down his face, decidedly not noticing the sandy brown hair, soft fray of lashes, defined nose...

Snap out of it. 

God, I've been alone too long. Nothing more than my hand since this shit started. I look at his body, breath hitching, and end up meeting eyes with the cat. 

"Get off your high horse." I say at it. 

It yawns again, looking annoyed at my audacity to exist, and hops off the bed, walking away. After that, I move down to his body, getting fresh water in the cloth and start my work there. I want to scream as I drag the cloth over powerful muscles, down a soft abdomen. I decide I just simply won't look, and hope that might help. It helps marginally, but also becomes a hindrance, because it's harder to skirt around the stitches I need to not tear. 

I move on to his arms and hands, scrubbing away the dirt and cleaning under his nails. While on the topic of not noticing, I don't notice that my fully expanded hand would be dwarfed pressed against his.

Stop it.

I also don't notice the prominent veins tracing the length of his hands and up his arms. Or the freckles that dot his skin, or the—

Behave.

Finally finished cleaning, I step back to grab the antiseptic and admire my work. He looks... a little less like he was dragged off the street. I mean, he definitely still looks like he was found on the street, just maybe not dragged off of it.

I grab a cotton pad and ointment and get to work, swabbing down each exposed cut delicately. I look at his legs, feet hanging off the mattress from his large size. I assess for just a moment, seeing cuts that need treated there as well, but realize I'd have to take his pants off to do that. 

I decide I'd rather he go septic and die. 

Once all of the medicine is applied I pull out my old phone. It doesn't work for shit anymore, other than already downloaded apps, the clock, and the alarm. I sigh as I set a repeating alarm for every four hours, and settle down into the next bed over, one of six, just across from the man. It's also convenient that George and Nick were preparing to hire live-in farmhands right before all of this happened. 

I leave the lights on, for security's sake, and pass out. 

I spend the next day similarly. Alarm, check if the man's still alive, ointment, then do what I need to do. Be that sleeping, regular farm work, cleaning, polishing my knives. Whatever I do, I stay tethered to this room by this guy and this stupid bottle of antiseptic.

After almost 24 hours, there's a... slight change. I wake up for my midnight alarm. I drag myself out of bed and flip the lights on. 

"Time for healing juice." I say, sing-song, as I walk to grab the bottle of antiseptic.

I finally look over at the man, only to be met by a bright stare. I yelp, fumbling the bottle to the ground. I swear under my breath as it starts to leak onto the floor, dropping to my knees to pick it up. The second I have it back in my hands I snap to attention.

"Hey. Hi. How long have you been awake?" I ask, to no response. 

The man tenses his arms, pulling at the ties and attempting to sit up. As soon as he realizes it's not going to work he grunts, and struggles harder. I can see the fear in his eyes. Despite my best efforts not to, my idiot self takes a step closer. 

"Hey, it's okay. You're safe." I start, seeing the man's gaze snap back to me. 

This only causes him to struggle harder, shaking the frame of the bed with his scrambling efforts. 

"No one's going to hurt you if you just calm down." I try again, stepping only marginally closer. 

The ties around his hands pull tight as he jerks away from me. I sigh, give up, and sit down at the foot of the bed across from him. 

"Stop or you'll tear your stitches." I say, rolling my eyes.

The man continues to struggle as I watch on in silence. I should just go get my brothers, but I want to ask a few questions first, just in case they decide to beat him to a pulp. Finally, after what feels like forever, the man gives up, chest heaving as he glares at me. I glare right back. 

"Feeling better after all of that?" I bite out, raising my brows. 

I swing to my feet, walking toward him again. I really don't have a grain of self preservation. The man doesn't respond, rather, he just keeps his eyes locked to me. As I look at him, he glares back. There's a moment where something clicks inside of my brain. 

He's not gonna hurt me. 

I roll my eyes, grab a fresh cotton pad, the bottle of antiseptic, and sit down right next to him, calling his bluff. The man flinches from the first touch, though, I strongly doubt it's because it hurts. Not after the alcohol in the gaping wound debacle. He stays tense the entire time as I swab him with ointment and talk... at him I guess. 

"Are you listening to me? You must be, right?"

I stare at his face, seeing him non-responsively staring back. Though, his look is less of a glare now... more of a... glower. I sigh, and tell him my name, staring at him in pause for just a moment to see if he responds. When he doesn't I push on. 

"It's nice to meet you, thank you for saving my life. What's your name?" I ask, a simple enough question. 

I swab another wound and get stared at.

Moving on then. 

"You should tell me." I say, flicking my eyes up to his face. "Because I'm asking. My brothers won't ask you. They'll beat it out of you." I say with a small laugh, because it's a joke. They act scary, but unless you give them a reason they're... as harmless as marshmallow fluff.

The man flinches, face only sinking further. My laugh dies in my throat. "Hey no, no, that was like, a joke, kind of." I try to awkwardly pat the man's arm. "No one here would hurt you unless you hurt us first." I say.

It doesn't sound very soothing to me, but it must to him, because he almost imperceptibly relaxes. 

"So what's your name?" I ask, trying again, as I retract my hands, having finished applying the ointment. The man stares. I roll my eyes and swing to my feet. 

"Holy fuck. Fine. I'm getting George." I say as I start to walk away. I hear a small, desperate noise from behind me, then.

"I don't know." 

I freeze in my tracks. The voice is deep, raspy, obviously unused for some time. I turn on my heel to look at him, still unsure that I believe he's finally talking. 

"You don't know what?" I ask.

"My name. I don't have one." The man, for sure, replies this time, looking alarmingly vulnerable despite his scowl. 

"Okay, okay, progress, okay." I start, almost rambling as I lean against the door frame. "Can you tell me why you were in that basement?" I ask. The man immediately flinches, face sinking again.

Good one. Genius level move.

Ask the vulnerable man about the torture basement as an opener. 

I sigh, realizing I'm not going to make progress. This situation needs an asshole and a bigger asshole, though I couldn't tell you who's which. 

"I'm going to go get George—" The man nearly whimpers. "It's okay! Don't worry! He's not going to hurt you just... he's just going to look at your wounds." 

I extend my pinky, shaking it in the air like a maniac. 

"I swear he won't hurt you." I say, then bolt before I can see the hurt in the man's face and talk myself out of it. 

I dash down the hallway, lightly knocking on George's door. I barely wait before I burst in. 

Ah.

I lock eyes with George, who fumbles with his blanket, looking a bit... sweaty.

"You better have a damn good—" George starts, sounding dangerous. 

"The guy woke up!" I squeak out, then reach for the door handle, backing myself out blind and slamming the door shut. I stare wide eyed at the floor once the door is closed. It's really not my night. 

I step back just in time for the door to fly open, a grumbling George stomping past me, still pulling on a tee-shirt. I stare after him as he stomps down the hall and kicks open the door to the room the man's in. I can already tell this is going to go well. 

Nick pokes his head out from the other door next to me. "What?" He asks, sounding half-asleep.

My brain finally works again, and I jog to catch up with George. I swing into the room, surprised to see George calmly sitting next to the man, staring at his watch, holding his wrist. 

I stay in the doorway until Nick comes up, exchanging a look with him as George does a million things a minute. The man seems to take it all in stride. That's not to say he looks happy. He looks like a wild animal about to bite, but he stays still and silent the entire time. Once George is done prodding, the man looks only marginally more tense. He stands with a shrug. 

"I mean... he's not dead. He'll probably be fine." He says. He looks down at him one more time.

Nick chokes out a laugh. "Very insightful." He says. I can't help that I laugh, too. 

George's head snaps up to glare at us. "What? I'm not a real doctor! I'm doing my best—"

Nick and I keep laughing to ourselves. "Ah yes—" Nick starts, mocking George's voice. "I diagnose him with having been fucking stabbed disease." He says.

I nearly choke on my spit, ignoring George's protests as I tag on. "I disagree. I diagnose him with knife-entered-his-stomach disease." I mock back to Nick.

George's raised voice finally gets our attention. "Oh? We're all doctors now? I guess you guys can come help him take a piss—" I yelp and run, Nick hot on my tail. 

"Bring up a bottle of water when you're done!" George shouts after us. 

Nick and I clamber down the stairs to the kitchen, both focused on our extremely laborious two person task of: put water in a bottle. We spend entirely too long loitering in the kitchen to guarantee we don't walk in on anything we seriously don't want to see. 

The way I did earlier.

Finally, after we've both decided enough time has passed, we trudge back up the stairs. I peak in first, finding George and the man sitting side by side. George is tying his hands back together, this time with a single zip tie, mumbling something I can't quite hear. 

I step into the room, gesturing to Nick that it's safe with a jerk of my head. George and the man snap up to stare at us as we step in. Nick follows in behind me until we're close, then steps back with a hand over his face. I give a cursory sniff. 

Medicine... sweat... old blood... dirt... I guess that isn't very pleasant. I must've just gone nose blind to it from being next to him so often.

"He's harmless." George starts, "I think we'll keep the hands bound just for propriety's sake, but we don't need to chain him to the bed." He hesitates for a moment, "Also because I don't want to come in here every time he wants to relieve himself." 

George sucks on his cheeks, sparing the man another glance as he sits there, silently staring at only me. I pretend to not notice. I step forward with the bottle of water, decidedly not looking at the man as I push it into his hands. He grunts, like a 'thank you', I choose to believe, and downs the entire bottle. 

George raises his brow, sitting up with an interesting look. "Anyways, he's still your problem. I'm going back to bed, if you need something don't come ask. The door will be locked." He says as he strides out of the room. 

Nick looks surprised. "Something happen that I miss?" He asks. I respond with a tight-lipped smile.

"Whatever." Nick rolls his eyes. "Please convince him to take a bath." He says, then leans back, patting my head. 

I pout at him, "Do I have to?" I ask. I know he smells bad, but I choose to believe I don't smell it, just to avoid the inevitable. 

Nick opens his mouth, about to chastise me when he suddenly grimaces, like he got another whiff. 

"Please. Get him in a fucking bath." He asks again, then steps away. 

Suddenly alone in the room with the man I take two large steps back. I look at him again, and see he's still staring. I stare right back, trying to get him to look away. It doesn't work. 

I groan in frustration, heavy silence filling the room. I shift from foot to foot, steeling my nerves. I decide a bath can wait until morning. I'm tired too, despite my extreme doubt that I'll be able to sleep like this. 

"Um... you need anything else?" I ask, shuffling toward my bed. 

The man shakes his head no, lifting his legs into his own bed, and laying down. I feel bad for him for just a moment, seeing him curl up in the tiny bed. I'll have to push a few of the beds together for him... some other time. I don't want to do anything tonight. 

As soon as the man's settled, the cat that I had honestly forgotten crawls out from under his bed and hops up onto his chest. I'm surprised when the man lifts his arms, burying both tied hands in the cat's fur. The cat settles in. 

As stupid as it sounds, it makes a lot of my fear settle. Cats don't trust just anyone. It doesn't matter if I watched this man snap someone's neck. A cat likes him, and George seems to trust him, that's enough for me. 

I sigh, flopping into bed, my next antiseptic alarm set for 2 1/2 hours from now. There's so much shit I'll have to do tomorrow that I don't want to think about. My mind rushes, trying to catalogue everything I need to do. I don't even notice when I finally fall asleep.

***

I want to scream when my alarm wakes me up at 4 am. I throw my blanket off, kicking my legs like a child throwing a tantrum. I write it off as my own way to make peace with the situation at hand. I swing myself up to sitting so I can wake up. I'm thankful to myself that I left the lights on as I look over.

The cat is gone now, but the man is spread out, twitching in his sleep. I lift myself up to my feet, trying to look at him. His face is scrunched up like he's in pain, body drawn completely tight. As I get closer I hear that he's whimpering and panting through gritted teeth, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. I cautiously prod his arm to wake him up. 

A... mistake.

Faster than I can react, his eyes snap open. The man jerks out of bed, shoving me back until I connect to a wall with a grunt. His hands wrap around my throat immediately. I shoot out to grip his forearms to steady myself and lift my knee right into his gut. 

Thank you, George. He sure is... perfectly harmless.

The man exhales, and his grip loosens. I use the opportunity to punch him square in the jaw. He stumbles back. I'm about to dart and get my knife when I see something in his expression soften as he blinks, eyes darting around the room.

I make the stupid choice. As I do.

I stay where I stand, tense, waiting for him to make a move. I hate how soft I get for people. He stays back for a moment, taking a few steadying breaths. He finally drifts his eyes back over toward me, settling into staring at my face. I raise my brows at him, as I cross my arms over my chest. 

I'm surprised when the man speaks, unprompted. "S'rry. Bad dreams." He says, voice rough. 

He lifts himself to standing, and wipes blood from his mouth onto his arm, like he's done it a thousand times. I suspect he may have. I soften, even though my adrenaline is still high. I feel some sick sense of pride that he spoke again. I point at his bed, wordless, as I snatch up the bottle of antiseptic and a cotton pad. 

The man limps over, never breaking his stare as he slides past me, uncomfortably close. I grimace, pressing myself as far back as I can get until he puts himself back in bed. I lean back over him, applying ointment to the pad. I'm grateful to see none of the stitches pulled.

"Lift your arms." I command. 

The man complies. I start applying the ointment. If I press extra hard on a few bruises just for the satisfaction of it, that's for me to know. It's not like it even matters. The man has gone completely unresponsive again, except for the staring right at me. I'm halfway through when I get frustrated. 

"Can you please just look at the wall, or something, anything else?" I say, almost begging. 

The man goes still for a moment, not moving his gaze at all. 

"Why?" He asks.

I balk, mouth falling open in disbelief. "I— I... Just—" I flounder, stuttering around my words. 

I don't know how to explain to a person why you can't wordlessly stare. I decide to not say anything, resigning myself to being stared at. I hurry, trying to finish applying antiseptic as fast as I can.

I'm thankful when I'm done, nearly leaping away from the man to turn the lights off so he can't stare at me anymore. I stumble my way back into bed, covering myself with my blanket and squeezing my eyes shut, begging to get back to sleep.

I shake the distinct feeling of eyes still watching me as I close mine and drift off again.


	3. Character

I wake up to light beaming into my eyes from the window, about an hour and a half before my next alarm is set to go off. I lift myself to sitting, deciding I need to just wake up. I let my eyes drift over to where they so desperately want to go and flinch.

I'm being stared at still. 

The man is sitting up in his bed, with the cat in his lap, watching me wake up. I groan, close to crying, as I swing myself out of bed. 

I feel sticky and gross. I remember Nick's request and sigh. I make the executive decision that I get to bathe first and take as much hot water as I so desire. He can take whatever I so graciously leave him. 

Also because I want just a moment to myself where I'm not being fucking watched. 

I walk over to the dresser I claimed, surprised to see a change of Nick's clothes sitting on the top. He is... not known for his subtlety. He's telling me this guy is taking a bath today. I ignore it for now, digging out my own change of clothes. 

Once I have them picked I wordlessly dip for the bathroom. I draw my bath hot with as much soap as we can spare. I let it fill as I brush my teeth and comb out my hair. 

I start shucking my clothes, pants first. I get my shirt halfway off when the door starts to open. 

I'd never guess who stares right back at me through the doorway. 

I glare, automatically kicking the door shut, and locking it this time. "Go away!" I shout. Surprise, surprise, no response. 

I clench my fists, nearly shaking in frustration. I steady myself with a deep breath, and finish stripping before I hop into the scalding bath. 

I scrub my anger out on my own skin, making sure there's not a fleck of dirt left on my body. It's an almost stupid decision. I know I patrol today and will probably get extra gross anyways. But, I need the release. 

Once I'm fully washed I sit, submerged in the water, hiding until the bath turns cold. I sigh when I finally get out. I make sure to take an absurdly long time drying and grooming myself.

By the time I'm done and dressed, I feel almost ready to face the world again. I swing the bathroom door open, holding my dirty clothes. 

The man is sitting on the floor just outside the bathroom, playing with the cat. Because of course he is. His eyes snap up to me immediately, and he stands to attention. I grimace as he towers over me. I prefer him sitting and laying down, at least then I can pretend I'm not being stared at by a six foot fucking three plus silent murder machine. 

Whatever, I guess it's convenient that he's here already. 

"Do you know what a bath is?" I ask, swinging a thumb behind me. It seems stupid, but nothing so far has made sense about him. 

The man's brow furrows, and he steps closer to me, crowding me back. I snap up a single hand, planting it to his chest to keep him at a distance. Now that I'm clean from my own funk I realize how right Nick was. Dude needs a bath, or two. 

I try to not grimace as he leans in closer, smelling like he was bleeding out in a dirty basement. Which... yeah. I drop my hand, going back into the bathroom just to give him room to come in.

His eyes dart around the room as he enters, then he looks at me and nods. I sigh in relief. It's the small victories. I start another bath with double the soap. I immediately flee to fetch him the change of clothes, a towel, and a toothbrush. I also bring my knife.

I drop everything on the sink. I quickly cut his zip tie. He could've killed me by now if he really wanted. He had his hands around my throat. I go back to sitting on the lip of the tub, averting my gaze, fiddling with my knife. I'm just sticking around until the tub is filled then I'm gone. 

I hear the distinct thump of shoes coming off and my gaze snaps up to see the man about to pull his pants down. I nearly scream. 

"STOP! Wait!" I shout. The man freezes in surprise. 

"Just— wait until I leave." I say, already stressed. 

He grunts in reply, dropping his hands. The second the tub is filled I turn the water off and dash out of the room, slamming the door behind me. 

Fuck me. I can't take this. 

I shuffle my way downstairs and start angrily pulling out pans. Nick huffs a laugh from where he sits at the kitchen bar, spinning from side to side on a stool. I glare at him as I slam a pan down on the burner. He doesn't even spare me a glance over his book. 

"Two over easy." Nick says, turning the page of his, I now notice, book on mechanical engineering. Ew. 

"You're getting scrambled." I bite back, pulling out a mixing bowl. "Everyone's getting scrambled." I say, angrily grabbing eggs. 

Nick laughs again, setting his book down and sipping his drink. "Wow. You're in such a good mood today." He sips again, signature I'm-gonna-be-an-asshole smile curling his lips. "Trouble sleep—"

I spin on him before he can finish, holding an egg like a weapon. "I don't want to talk about it." I say back to him. He hides his smile in another sip, but I can see the quirk of his brow before I turn back. 

"Keep it up." I start, teasing back, "I'll burn your eggs." I say. An empty threat, I wouldn't, because they're my eggs too. We fall into silence as I violently prepare eggs and toast like it's a battle. 

Nick and I stay in my moody silence until George walks in the front door from feeding the chickens. We both swivel to look at him. He waves, wiping his feet before he enters, carrying in fresh eggs and setting them on the counter. I focus on my cooking, just barely watching him out of the corner of my eye. 

George walks over, sitting right next to Nick who grimaces. "Dude you smell like literal shit—" Nick starts. I hear a single smack and shouting before I zone out and solely focus on the food. 

There's a pang of loneliness in my stomach. I love my brothers, but they're currently closer with each other than they are with me. Probably because they spent a year running a farm together while I fucked off to pursue my career.

I stab the eggs with a spatula, deciding I don't want to think anymore. 

"Jeeze. What'd the eggs do to you?" George asks, leaning over the bar next to Nick who's covering his nose. I roll my eyes, aggressively slapping spinach into the eggs and throwing the pan of bread under the broiler to toast.

"She's in a mood." Nick says from his seat, mumbled.

I groan, wanting to kick the cabinets. 

"I'm not sure if you remember, but there's a random dude staying in my room that I watched kill someone. That I have to rub ointment all over every four hours. I'm TIRED." I say, then actually do kick a cabinet.

George hm's and Nick gasps. "Oh my God..." Nick starts, "There is? I totally forgot—" I interrupt him by throwing an eggshell at him. George squawks, moving back as the eggshell bounces off of Nick's chest onto him.

George laughs, "You're right. She is in a mood." He says to Nick, who laughs right along with him. I get somehow more annoyed by the way they've taken my foul mood and used it as fodder to make fun of me.

As though on cue to how pissed I am, I hear the thud of footsteps on the stairs. All three of our heads snap up as I turn off the stovetop, looking to watch the man— fuck I need to figure out something to call him. Man? Just man?

We watch Man descend the stairs. 

I guess that sounds okay for now.

He looks clean and damp, dressed in the sweatpants Nick left, but suspiciously shirtless. He's holding the cat in one arm, the antiseptic in the other. There's something incredibly disarming about a big man cradling a cat like a baby.

It only lasts another moment, before the cat jumps out of his arm and bee-lines for the door the second it comes into view. Nick wordlessly leans over, opening it, and the cat darts outside. He pulls back, letting the door shut itself, and defensively crosses his arms.

Man looks around for a quick moment, until his eyes land on me and lock there. I send out a silent prayer for my sanity. He keeps walking, headed straight toward me. 

"How's the stab wound, champ?" George asks, voice cautious. 

"Okay." He says, to everyone's surprise. Though, his eyes don't leave me as he addresses him.

George and Nick gape for a second. 

"Oh shit he talks?" Nick mumbles. George hits him in the arm. 

"He woke up handcuffed to a bed after getting stabbed. I doubt you'd be good conversation either." George whisper yells back at Nick. It turns into them elbowing each other back and forth as Man closes the distance and holds the antiseptic and a cotton pad out for me.

I look up at him, words to rip him a new one resting on the tip of my tongue. Like I don't know when I need to rub ointment on his stupid wounds. It's not time. 

"You seriously—" My phone alarm blares. 

I close my eyes and click my teeth shut. He's right.

I rip the bottle out of his hand with a huff, guiding him to lean against the counter. He's surprisingly compliant. I decidedly ignore the stares from George and Nick. I take the cotton and dab each wound. 

"Where's the shirt?" I grumble out, trying to distract myself with conversation. 

Man grunts. "Covered the cuts." He says. Staring.

I end up more annoyed. He isn't supposed to think things. Unabashedly this time, I make sure to push my thumb extra hard to the cuts that I know bug him. My hand ghosts over a new bruise on his stomach and I feel pride. That one's mine.

I hear a snort from behind the bar and crane my neck to glare. George is covering a laugh with his hand, Nick isn't doing so well. 

"Why are you— his hands are literally free." George finally says.

My mouth forms a small 'o' as I realize, embarrassment heating my cheeks. I turn back to Man, blinking, and slap the cotton into his hand before turning back to serve myself food. 

"There's eggs and toast." I say to the room, fixing a plate and sliding through the kitchen, heading for the front door. 

I just want to be nowhere near anyone. It's amazing how hard that's become in an apocalypse. I glare at my guilty yet smug looking brothers as I slip by. 

I step out onto the porch, sitting down and swinging my legs over the side. I hunch over as I start to eat. When did we all decide we were suddenly fine with a random murder man being here? And existing freely? I, for one, am not a fan.

I'm not. 

I don't care if he saved my life. And stares at me in a way that—

I swing my leg back, kicking the porch just to distract myself with the hurt. I gnaw on my toast, glaring out toward the barn where I see the new cat introducing itself to our other barn cats. After it goes in the barn, I look up at the morning sky and watch the clouds, trying to find a moment of peace. 

I nearly sob when the door creaks open. I hear one large footstep, then a thump as someone sits next to me. 

I don't want to look over because I already know who it is. I look over anyways. Man is there, staring right at my face. I sigh and tilt my head back. Fuck it. If this is my new reality I need to learn how to live with it.

"Enjoying the view?" I ask, turning to scoop eggs into my mouth as unattractively as I can manage. 

No reply. I roll my eyes, and continue eating. 

"Did you eat?" I ask. I get a grunt in response. 

I start shoveling my food into my mouth as fast as I can, deciding the quicker I finish this, the quicker I can hop on the ATV and make my first round for the day around the property. Hopefully that will be a nice escape. 

I shoot up as I finish, rushing back inside to pull my shoes on and grab the keys. I must not go quick enough, because Man appears again, standing in the entryway, following me with his eyes. 

George notices me grabbing the ATV keys and darting for the door. He stops me with his arm and points his chin at Man. 

"Take your puppy with you." He says. 

I immediately pout, scrambling for an excuse not to. 

"What— what— what if he kills me out there. Georgie I'll be all alone with a big scary—" He interrupts me. 

"He's had like... infinite chances to kill you. In fact it's a testament to his self restraint that he hasn't." Nick says laughing, without even looking over.

George unsuccessfully hides a laugh of his own before addressing me again. "If this guy is staying here, someone needs to show him around. It's only fair that it's you. Plus, he'll be added protection." He says.

"Who the fuck says he's staying—" I stop as the George fixes me with a signature 'I'm-the-oldest' glare. I swallow my words, turning to talk to Man. "Hurry up and put a shirt on." I say to him, submitting. 

George smiles, pleased, as I stomp out to the porch and wait around for my unwanted company. I hear the door open and look up in time to see Man stepping out, surprisingly quiet for his size. This time, fully clothed. 

I'm not disappointed. I'm not.

Wordlessly, I start walking toward the barn to get the ATV. I immediately feel awkward, and begin my ramble. 

"Yknow we're lucky to have Nick, yeah? We were wasting so much gas when this shit first started going down. It was annoying to always have to go into the city and lug gas back, dangerous too." I look over my shoulder to see Man following and staring at me, as he does. He nods once in acknowledgement. I decide that's enough to keep going.

"Anyways," We reach the door of the barn and I work the lock. It can be a bit finicky. "I think we all cried tears of joy when he got the ATV engine to start running on electric." I finally pop open the barn doors and seven... or eight now, cats come pouring out, threading around our ankles, mewling. 

I push forward without looking back. I open up the bag of cat food at the door and take a giant scoop of it, walking over to concrete slab I pour it out on. I finally look back when I realize I'm not tripping over cats. 

I see Man, crouched to the ground, trying to pet each cat equally as they all swarm him, flopping over and showing belly. It's one of the first times where his eyes haven't been locked on me, his expression... soft. I almost feel bad for ruining it. 

I click my tongue, shaking the scoop of food audibly enough all of the cats come bounding over. He looks up at me with momentary hurt, before he realizes the cat he came with stayed with him. It probably just doesn't know what the scoop means yet. 

"Crunchies time!" I coo out to the cats, bending over to pour a line of food down the concrete. 

That gets his cat's attention, and suddenly he's cat-less. I smile to myself, watching him stand back up. 

"You want to feed them too?" I ask, holding out the scoop. I see a moment of want flicker on his face, before it pulls back and he shakes his head no. 

I shrug. "Your loss." I say, then bring the second scoop of food and pour it out. 

I quickly hop on the ATV once done feeding the cats and pull it out of the barn. I have to make sure it gets out while the cats are distracted, otherwise it can be a nightmare. I pull myself just far enough away, then hop off, jogging back to the barn to close and lock the doors. 

I double-check that Man is following me, and yeah, he sure is. So are his eyes. I lead him over to the ATV and swing myself on, revving the engine. He stands next to me, just staring. 

Oh, right.

I pat the space behind me. "You sit right here." I say. Man nods, jaw tensing as he carefully slots himself against my back. 

Oh. Oh. I didn't think this through.

My entire back is warmed by the length of his body hovering behind me. His body is stiff, hands sitting in his lap. I want to cry over what I have to do next.

"Okay..." I start, "You..." I swallow. "Put your hands on my stomach and get closer." I say. 

There's a moment where nothing happens, then suddenly there's two massive warm hands curling around my core, the hard cut of his body pressing flush to my back.

I don't shiver. I don't get butterflies. I don't feel my entire fucking body heat from being touched by another person for the first time in a year that I wasn't fighting, and that isn't my brothers.

I'm also a liar. 

I duck my flushed face.

"Okay, hold on." I say, then finally start to move. 

Somehow, someway, his fingers grip down, holding me tighter. 

God, I'm going to dream about this later. Fuck it. I'm gonna dream about this tonight. I almost want to laugh at myself, I've become a whore over a... hug. 

I try to shake the feeling, focusing on quickly navigating to the border of the property. I'm thankful once we reach the fence. The rest of the drive is much slower, so that we have time to look. 

"You don't have to hold on so tight, now." I say to Man, hoping I'll calm down once he drops his hands. He relaxes his grip, dropping his hands to loosely hold my hips.

Oh my God, it's worse. 

I squeeze my thighs, ready to scream. I decide rambling will have to distract me. 

"One of the first things we did after everything happened was build this fence." I say, nodding at it. 

It's a shitty wood and barbed wire type deal, but it gets the message across. I can't see him so I assume he looks and barrel on. 

"It took a long ass time, but we put signs up and everything that are like, 'keep out or we'll kill ya' y'know." I bite my cheek, slowly cruising along the path this ATV has worn along the side of the fence from the countless times we've all driven it. 

"We have to drive people off. It's hard to... trust..." I start tapering off as I realize he's the first person we've ever let in. Yikes. I guess he earned it though, I'd be a corpse without him. I groan, continuing along to show him the entirety of the property. 

It takes another minute of tense silence before we reach the next 'sight'. 

"Behold. The chicken coop." I say, like it's something to look at. I get a grunt, and accept that for what it is. 

Next. 

"This is the pond. Don't swim in it, it's for crop run off." I say, then hesitate. "I mean, unless you want to die, then definitely swim in it." I finally get a small exhale in return. I count it as a laugh, proudly puffing my chest.

As we pass the forest just on the edge of the property next to the cow pasture, I feel Man perk up against my back, neck craning to look. I had planned to speed past, but slow down as I realize his interest. 

"What's that?" He asks. I'm surprised at how much he's been speaking unprompted, wondering if it will only improve. 

"I don't know. Just a forest, I guess. We don't really... go in there." I say, nervously biting my lip. Man, what a lame answer. All the same, I get my grunt in response and move on. 

"And for the finale—" We finally pull into view of Nick's fields, all planted and growing with crop. "It's pretty at first but... this is it for the last 90% of this drive. It'll get old." I say. I wait for my nod, and end up getting slightly squeezed as a response. My stomach dips.

I laugh nervously. "Anyways, just keep an eye out!" I manage to choke out as I start us going again. 

The rest of the lap is uneventful, filled with horrible one-sided conversation. Thankfully, Nick's fields are in perfect shape and decidedly invader-less. We make our way back to the farmhouse and I park the ATV out front.

"Okay well... We'll do that whole shebang three or four more times today. Just... do whatever until then." I say, then swallow nervously. 

Half of me, the rational half, wants me to get off this thing and fucking bolt. The other half, the touch-starved half, could not be pried from her current position. 

The silence draws out, longer than I expect, neither of us moving. I could be imagining it, but it feels like he leans in closer. I try to write off the tension and heat I feel swinging low in my stomach. I haven't been with someone in a year. That's all this is. A natural, physiological response to having another human touching me that theoretically I could bed.

And he's hot and big or whatever. 

I'm surprised when he speaks, pulling me out of whatever mental space I was just in. 

"Cats?" He asks, quietly. 

I nearly melt. 

"You wanna see the cats?" I ask, finally shaking off his arms, swinging myself off the ATV, and heading toward the barn again. I unlock it and pull the door open, coming face to face with the sleeping pile of felines. 

"I'll leave it unlocked so you can—" I don't finish my thought, watching in disbelief as the man slips past me and drops to lay down on the floor with both hands jammed into the pile of cats. 

I turn on my heel, dipping out of there as fast as possible. It's just too... much for me. I bolt inside, waving off my curious brothers with a "It went fine!" As I head up for my room, finally ready to take my alone time. 

The first thing I notice in the room is the smell. I recoil, looking at the man's three day old, blood stained, sweaty sheets and rip them off his bed. I realize it's the perfect opportunity to push beds together as well. 

I push together two of the twin beds for him, the same way I did for myself, and steal some clean king sheets from George's room. I decide, looking at the old sheets, that they're probably not going to be usable as sheets ever again, but we might be able to cut around the blood stains for scrap fabric. 

I lug them off to the washing machine. Once satisfied with the new bed I pull out a candle, lighting it, hoping that the days old funk will clear up. I pop it down on my nightstand and curl up in bed with a book. Finally a moment of solitude. 

I make it about five pages before Man appears again, hovering in the doorway. He looks at his bed in bewilderment before turning back to stare at me. I sigh, putting down my book. 

"Changed the sheets and made it a king." I say, like that explains it. 

He... stares. I roll my eyes. 

"I know you can talk. Just talk." I say, crossing my arms again. 

Man doesn't, instead, he walks right over and sits right on the foot of my bed. I curl in on my myself, flinching up the mattress. He turns in toward me, gently guiding my legs apart as he crawls over top of me.

Okay.

Okay.

Okay.

Huh?

I'm blinking up him in shock, still parting my legs as his hands go for the hem of his shirt. 

Sure, this is something we can do. 

I'm startled when something falls out of his shirt. I look down to see an assortment of foraged flowers now sitting on my stomach, being shaken out of his shirt. Man leans back with a nod. 

"For you." He says, then he leaves to go lay in his own bed. 

I gape into open air, gathering the random collection of plants and setting them in the glass of drinking water on my nightstand. 

Okay... I guess. That may as well have just happened. I drag my hand down my face. Fucking... whatever. I don't want to acknowledge what I thought was happening. I heat with embarrassment as I pick my book back up. 

I try to read for awhile, but keep losing focus, now that I have a pair of eyes staring right at me from across the room. I huff and settle into bed, deciding more sleep never hurt anyone. 

***

I wake up what must be close to noon, looking over to see Man with his shirt held between his teeth, applying his medicine, right before I hear my alarm for exactly that start blaring. I gotta turn that off. His eyes immediately snap to me, even as his movement continues. I grumble sleepily, pulling my phone out and permanently disabling the alarm. 

Whatever. It's probably time for another round anyways. I jerk my head, signaling Man to get up and follow me as I make my way downstairs. This time settling onto the ATV I do much better.

Ugh, that's a lie. It's worse. 

The simple fact that he lands at my back and wraps his arms around me without me saying a single word is what makes it worse. I twitch restlessly. I don't know how I'm going to survive doing this a single time more today. I might actually blow up, or crash the ATV, and then blow up. 

This round around the property is smoother. I get consistent, "Ok's" out of him as I ramble, which makes me feel on top of the world. 

Once we get home we wait around until the next round. 

This next round ups the ante. Man must've finally gotten bored enough to find his voice. He starts asking questions that I gladly answer, if it means not sitting in awkward silence. 

"Why?"  
"Um... because... we want to look around to make sure no one snuck onto the property or broke the fence. And double check that nothings on fire and that there aren't any zombies stumbling in."  
A nod. I hope I answered the right question.

"What for?"  
"For... what?"  
A grunt for a reply. I roll my eyes.

"Thirsty."  
"You should have brought water, idiot."

We arrive back home, and it feels like we've almost had a conversation. Though, the second we get inside, he goes back to silent. 

The next round I'm feeling bold. I press. 

"Why are you silent once we go inside?" I ask. I feel him tense, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. 

"Scared." He says, simply.

I balk at that, nearly stopping the ATV in disbelief. "Scared? Of my brothers?" I question. I get his signature grunt in response. 

"They're— they— they're both babies what are you scared of?" I reply back. His hands tighten again, as he leans in closer to me.

I stop the ATV, turning it off. I spare the sky a cursory glance. We're already halfway through, now sitting next to Nick's crop fields. We're definitely going to be pushing it, but we should still get home before sunset, even if we take time for this conversation. I peel his arms off of me and I spin in my seat, leaning back against the handles. I don't want to give up the contact, but this talk has to happen. 

"Are you scared because you don't know them?" I ask. He shakes his head.

"Men."

"You're a man, too." I point out. He glares at me for that, clenching his hands on his thighs.

"Do you want to know about them? I'll tell you everything about everyone if you promise to tell me about you." I say. We stare at each other, charged, until he finally nods, once. 

"George. He's been my brother since I was ten. His mom married our dad. He's the oldest, though sometimes he's the biggest baby. Before all of this he was in Medical school— studying to be a doctor. Do you know what that is?" I ask, staring at him. He shakes his head no. I barrel on. "It's like... a specialized field of learning. Doctors know how to heal people, tend wounds, and—" I push a hand forward before I can think, lifting the bottom of his shirt. I trace his stitches with a finger tip. "Do this." I say. I look up, finding him staring with an intensity. My breath hitches as I realize what I'm doing and I drop the shirt, retracting my hand back into my own space and going silent.

There's only a moment before Man speaks. "More." He demands. I'm taken aback, smile quickly curling my lips. 

"Calm down." I say, but can't help the jump of excitement to be having this much of a conversation. "He was taking a gap year to help Nicky get this farm running." I click my tongue. What else... Oh!

"He hates loud noises. He loves... money and family. He's probably only still alive to watch over me and Nick. Um... his favorite weapon is a golf club." I say, finishing. 

Man nods, more engaged than I've ever seen him. 

"Nick!" I start, moving forward. "Oh my beloved baby Bubs. He's the one that had the brilliant idea to start an organic farm. He got George to help and tried to get me to help too— but I told him to fuck off." I say, shaking with laughter. "Nicky's the brains of the operation and Georgie is the... other brains of the operation. Nothing to be scared of."

"What about you?" Man asks, simple enough. 

"I'm just the pure dumb luck." I say with a grin. "I should be dead a hundred times over. But, I always survive. I'm the fucking cockroach." I say, proud. 

I think I see him almost smile then barrel forward, switching back to my brothers, too embarrassed to talk about myself. 

"Nick is sort of the resident genius. He was already in an engineering masters program despite his age, he was about to graduate when everything happened." I flounder for a minute and decide everyone's descriptions should mirror each other. 

"Nick hates blood and bad smells. Loves music and reading. I would guess his goal is to learn everything he possibly can and write a book about it to leave for whatever... whoever comes next. Like a field guide to humans." I hesitate on the last one, Nick is much more of a quiet tactician than me or George. "For a weapon... a car maybe?" 

I know I saw him run a zombie over when they were more common. I know it. 

"Oh yay. Back onto me." I say, feeling nervous. Why is it so much easier to talk about other people? "I'm average. Very average. Average smarts. Average everything except um..." I taper off. "...luck, I guess."

I shift awkwardly as he listens, feeling like I'm being boring. 

"But— I do love thrill-seeking and being stupid. I hate crying. My main goal is to find my missing cat Bear, after that... I don't know. Find the world's hottest hot sauce?" I blow out a sigh. "My weapon is knives. I like knives. Easily underestimated just like me." I say, with a bad wink.

Man nods again blinking at me with the silent stare I'm used to. I fix him with a predatory look in return. 

"Your turn." I say. 

His mouth opens, then snaps shut, then opens.

"I was a guard for... a man." He tapers off, looking hesitant. "I kill a lot." He says, cocking his head as his stare never leaves me. "I don't know much else." He says, furrowing his brow, like he's confused at that.

Still in shock from the number of words he just used, I stare in complete silence. I almost reach out to pat his arm, but restrain myself. 

"Love? Hate? Motivation? Weapon?" I say, as soon as I find my voice. 

"I like cats. I hate pain. I want to protect. Teeth and axe." He says. 

I try to process that seriously, but get stuck on the last one. "T-teeth?" I ask, stuttering nervously, remembering I found him with a muzzle on. Some things start to make sense.

Man hesitates for a second, then bares his teeth at me. I nearly yelp. The front teeth are normal, but after that it gets weird. My hands shoot forward before I can stop myself. I shove my fingers into his mouth. 

I'm not known for being anything but a fucking idiot.

"Woah. This is crazy, what the fuck." I say, forcing his mouth open as I run my finger along his teeth. Starting at the K9's his teeth are tipped with sharpened metal, or capped. "Open wider." I demand, still not really processing what I'm doing, as I drag my finger along the scar tissue inside of his mouth. 

Suddenly I'm stilled by Man's hand on my wrist. I blink, looking in his eyes, and see the danger there. My brain sputters for a second as I realize I have my hand jammed in the lion's maw. I retract as though burned, but he keeps his grip on my wrist. 

There's a moment of tension, where we just stare at each other, my hand covered in his spit. We keep our eyes locked, as my heart thumps in my throat. 

"If it makes you feel better I'll show you my knives!" I squeak out as a peace offering. 

He blinks, then finally drops my wrist. "I've seen them." He says.

I furrow my brow. "What? When?" I ask. Was he snooping when I slept?

He stares at me in very tense silence. "When it went inside of me." He says.

Oh... ha ha ha... right.

I shove my hand out at him. "Then you can bite me as payback! Just y'know... so I know what I'm working with." There's no ulterior motive to wanting his mouth on me. None.

Shut up.

I'm almost surprised when he complies. He snatches my wrist again, separating a single finger out from my fist, then oh so slightly tapping it to his tooth. Even with no pressure, it cuts. I flinch. That shit's razor sharp. 

I retract my hand, popping my finger into my mouth and holding it there. "Is this-h why you were muzz-sh-led?" I mumble out around my finger. 

I feel awful as I watch his expression fall. He dips his gaze back down. "Yeah." He says, like he's trying to sink in on himself. "He'd muzzle me and not allow me to speak. The only people who see the teeth die."

My stomach drops. I realize now why he hasn't been keen on talking. I instinctively pop my hand out of my mouth and raise it to pat his cheek. "You'll never be muzzled again." I say. It's not a promise I can actually keep, but he looks like he needs... something. 

Before I can react, his hand shoots back up to grab my wrist. His eyes fall shut and turns his face, brushing his lips and nose into my palm as he presses himself there taking a heavy inhale. My breath hitches.

This is just.

A natural, physiological.

Response.

I swallow around my tongue as his eyes open again, staring at me, as he holds my hand to his face. 

We're ripped from the moment by a blood curdling scream that makes both of our heads snap toward it. I retract my hand and flip back into driving position. I've never started the ATV quicker. I barrel us toward the noise.

I have to swallow my bile when we get close enough to see. About 50 yards away, I see what looks like a zombie, God it's been awhile since I've seen one of those, atop a screaming, writhing woman. Right in the fucking middle of our field. 

"Help, please help!" The scream rings out again.

Fuck.

I don't wanna deal with this.


	4. Slip Up

I tense my hands, watching the scene unfold. It seems... noisier than it should be. I try to calculate my approach, when suddenly the warmth behind my back leaves. I snap my eyes up to Man, who's striding right for the woman, then stand up as well. I grab him by the wrist and yank, trying to pull him back. He doesn't budge, but he does stop. 

I step forward until I'm in front of Man and clap a hand to his chest. "Sit your ass back down. And wait. If you tear your stitches I will have your fucking head." I whisper yell, glaring at him and shoving at his chest.

His jaw tenses as his gaze flicks between me and the woman. "She needs help." He says with a whine. 

I turn to look again, seeing she's still in the exact same position as when we arrived. Fucking weird. 

"Go back to the ATV, and stay there. I will check it out." I point my finger toward the vehicle over his shoulder. 

I don't want to check it out, but I don't want him to, so I have to suck it up. He drags in a long breath, studying my face, then listens. He goes back to the ATV and paces, rather than sits. At least it's... something. 

I pull my knife and turn back to the struggling woman. I feel like she should definitely be dead by now. Yet still, she screams and thrashes. I carefully, quietly, approach, keeping myself low to hide in the crop until I'm within 25 or so feet. I swallow my fear and steady myself with a deep inhale. 

"Hey!" I shout. "You didn't see the no trespassing signs?" 

I figure if it's really a zombie I'll get it's attention and flay it. Two heads snap toward me, and suddenly the 'zombie' stands off the woman pulling a gun, as the woman springs to her feet pulling a knife. 

Ah. It's bait. I knew it.

The woman whistles a signal and I hear an engine rev to life somewhere within the line of trees just beyond the fence. The fake zombie and woman stride right toward me, looking particularly smug as I stay still, waiting, calculating how to take care of the gun.

"She'll fetch a nice price for sure." Fake zombie says under his breath as they get within touching distance. I blink at that, standing relaxed and still. 

Sure I will.

The woman laughs as she comes behind me and collects my hands behind my back. I keep my knife concealed at the wrist, just waiting for my opening. 

"Sorry hun, but you shouldn't try to play the hero." She says.

I roll my eyes at that. I wouldn't. Suddenly a truck pushes through the line of trees, crushing part of the fence, and fake zombie looks over, momentarily distracted. 

What a good day it is to be hot and talented. 

I push my body back, slamming into the woman and violently swing my leg, kicking the gun out of fake zombie's hand with a loud crack. 

Ow, that kinda hurt. 

I drop my knife back into my hand and start stabbing wildly behind me until I'm released. I can hear them both yelling something, but tune it out, focusing. My eyes glance back to the truck and I see two more men hop out, guns drawn.

Ugh that's annoying. 

I move fast, ducking to get behind the woman and planting my knife to her throat to use her as a human blockade. They immediately shoot her. I catch her as she goes limp, not one to give up an easy shield.

I guess I've overestimated the moral compass of human traffickers. My eyes dart to the ATV, hoping to beg Man for help with a stare, but I come up empty. There's only a moment of confusion where I don't know where he's at before I see him spring on one of the two gunmen. 

I quickly refocus on the man next to me as he rushes and grapples me. I manage to cut his thigh before my arms are restrained. I shout for Man, once, before fake zombie covers my mouth. 

Taking a page out of Man's book I bite down hard enough that his hand retracts. "You little fucking bitch—" 

I feel the pressure of a knife on my throat, my knife on my throat, and wonder how many times I'll be in this position. Maybe I should stop using knives. Maybe I should hold my knives tighter, or make them more complicated to open so only I can use them. 

I turn my head, still thrashing, looking over just in time to watch as Man bites down on the first gunman's neck and and rips. Good boy. 

Though, that's... an absurd amount of blood. I just cleaned him too. 

The second gunman watches and does the smart thing, getting right back in the truck and backing out as fake zombie screams for him to stop, stumbling us forward. 

I see Man spit out what looks suspiciously like an artery from his mouth, as he drops the now-corpse. It crumples to the ground and he steps over it, striding toward me and fake zombie. Fake zombie is yelling at him to stop, threatening me, stumbling back. 

I smile to myself. If there's one thing I can count on, it's being underestimated. Every. Time. I slam my foot down on top of his, briefly my face contorts. 

Ouch, that really hurt. 

Then I duck out of his arms. I tackle him to the ground at his legs and dig my thumb into the gash on his thigh I cut earlier, just for fun. Fake zombie shouts, and I pull my backup knife, quickly, cleanly, slicing his throat before he can make a move.

I pry my other knife from the dead man's now lax hand with a huff, wiping the blood off it onto him. I pocket my knives and shoot back to my feet. The right one pangs and I groan, I must've sprained it. 

I turn to look at Man, who's still approaching rapidly, and start limping at him. "I said to stay!" I shout.

His— blood covered— face is drawn tight, low whines coming from his throat. "You're hurt—" He chokes out.

Something inside of me softens, but I'm also pissed. As soon as I get close enough I punch him in the stomach where I know my bruise is with a frustrated shout. "Next time listen to me you fucking idiot."

Man stumbles back, expression desperate. I grit my teeth and surge forward, wrapping my arms around him, hugging him with enough force that we slap together.

"Thank you. You saved my ass. Again." I grit out.

I twist my hands in the back of his shirt, ignoring the still warm blood as I bury my face into his chest. He goes rigid in my arms, standing there, panting in silence. The moment only lasts for a moment longer before he speaks. 

"What is this?"

"A hug?" I ask as I pull back. I thickly swallow, searching his face. Does he not know what hugging is? Before I can ask, I catch sight of more blood growing on his abdomen. 

I snap my hands forward, ripping his shirt up. Shit.

"George is gonna kill us! Your stitches!" I nearly shout, staring at the opened wound. I drop Man's shirt back into place and limp past him, headed for the ATV. 

Man whines, following me close. "I'm sorry."

The desperation in his voice makes me feel... not good. I shrug, giving up. "It's okay. Let's just get home." I try to sound reassuring but probably fail.

My eyes turn up again. We're definitely not getting home before dark, now. I swing myself onto the ATV, and Man immediately lands behind me, curling his hands to hold impossibly tighter than usual, like if he lets go I'll float away. In any other circumstance I might heat, but my focus is elsewhere. I settle my strained ankle gently to the side as it throbs angrily. 

I drive us home faster than I ever have, pulling straight up to the porch and not bothering to put the ATV away properly. I limp up the porch and swing the front door open.

Nick speaks as he spins to face us, "Took you long—" He stutters to a stop as he sees us, smile dropping from his face. "George!" He calls out, unable to look away. 

"A minute!" George calls back.

Nick's brows raise. "George! Get the fuck out here!" He yells. 

I hear a thump and then rapid footsteps as George scrambles around the corner from a back room with a look of concern. His face sets as his eyes land on me and Man. His mouth opens, but I answer the questions before he can ask.

"Mostly not our blood." I point at Man, "Pulled his stitches." I point at myself, "Sprained ankle." I drop my hands. "Four human traffickers. Three dead in the field just past the forest, fourth fled. Silver truck, XNF 33... 1 maybe." I say, then roll my eyes.

"They broke part of the fence which is so goddamn annoying." I say. 

"You only got three?" George says as he snorts an almost laugh, then turns to Man. His face goes hard as he steps forward, clapping his hand to Man's shoulder. "The stitches? Really?" He asks, then drops his eyes.

"And the shirt—" George nearly shouts out, tugging Man toward the stairs with a huff.

Man shoots me a look like I can save him. I purse my lips and turn, pretending I don't see it. I limp my way over to the seat next to Nick and plop down as Man gets dragged away.

Nick and I make eye-contact and he raises his brows. "You gonna go save him from George's wrath?" He asks. 

I spin, turning to face the counter. "Save who?" I ask. Nick laughs, turning with me. 

I feel another pang in my ankle and bend over, rolling up my pant leg. It's definitely already swollen, light bruises blooming where the pain ebbs. 

I poke the bruise with my finger. "Ow." I say. "I don't think I can walk on that."

"How're you gonna make it upstairs?" Nick asks.

I pout, turning my eyes up at him. "You can't carry me?" I beg.

He makes a noise. "I don't think I can carry your fat ass up the stairs all on my—" He stops as I smack his arm and glare.

"I almost got murdered. Be nice to me." I whine.

Nick laughs and hops out of his chair. "Fine. I'll draw you a bath and come get you when it's ready." He says. "Well, one of us will come get you."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks mommy." I say, teasing.

He curls his lip at that, but still smiles, leaning in to ruffle my hair. "And I'll leave ice and wrap on your nightstand. You think you'll need help with it?"

I shake my head no. It's... ice and wrap. I'm already being annoying enough by making him and/or George carry me up the stairs. 

Nick walks away and I lift my better ankle up onto his now empty seat. What a shit ending to a good day. I rest my head in my palm. 

Man's... confusing. I need some time to think about the things I've learned about him today, everything seems like a juxtaposition.

First, he says he hates pain, but he doesn't even flinch when put into pain. Like, I've fully, intentionally and unintentionally hurt him, and he's never reacted.

Then, there's the whole bit about being a hollowed out killing machine owned by some scary sounding guy, yet he's willing to dash into danger, trusting this random lady just because she sounded distressed. 

I guess I can't be too angry, he did it for me too. 

And— and! It seems like he doesn't know what a hug is?

I start to fidget with my fingers. It's overwhelming to think about. Nauseating, even, to consider the way he must've been treated.

I shiver the feeling off and try to refocus. 

Before I can find a new train of thought to get lost in, George appears, walking down the stairs. He looks... tense. I guess it didn't take him too long to fix Man up.

As George approaches, I assume it's for me. I lift my arms, making grabby hands and start teasing. "Come carry me you big strong—" He walks right past me into the kitchen.

I turn to watch George, just in time to see him slam a glass to the counter and flick the cap off a bottle of whiskey. "I'm not carrying you. Your new pet insisted he does it. Thought he was gonna cry if I said no." He says, never once looking up as he pours his glass. 

My face sets into a look of anger. "So? I have agency to choose who carries me up."

"I know. But Nick told me I had to let him." George says, interrupting, a small smile tugging his lips. "For entertainment purposes."

I feel my face fall. I'm silent for only a moment. I hate these assholes. I think for a moment before I come to a solution.

"Can I have a glass?" I ask. "A bit of medicine for the aching ankle?"

George looks at me, raising his eyebrows, but immediately complies with my request. He sets down a second glass, filling it half full, about 5 oz of liquor. He slides it across the counter to me and I pick it up, ignoring the burn, as I take the whole glass like it's a shot.

I clink the empty glass back on the counter and grimace, resisting the urge to cough. George stares at me with a look of disbelief before lifting his glass and nursing it.

"Fixing the fence tomorrow?" I ask.

"Bright and early." George replies, then taps his fingers against the counter. "You gonna help?" He asks.

I hum for a minute. I don't really want to. 

"Maybe if you beg me." I say. George sneers back at me. It's nice to unwind with teasing after a serious moment.

I wait at the counter until I feel the alcohol start to settle in my body, long and short term aches numbing, muscles loosening, and head fuzzing over. I slap my hands to the counter, deciding I'm ready. 

"I'm about to make a stupid decision." I say to George.

"And what is that?" George asks back.

I drop my legs and swing to my feet, nearly doubling over in pain. Allowing my ankle to rest should've helped, but it's only let it swell more. Still, I refuse to allow Man to carry me just so my brothers can have a laugh.

I turn to George with a cracked-out smile, and he glares me in return as I start rapidly limping for the staircase, every other step accented by an "Ow." 

I don't even make it up the first step before I shout in pain. I drop, whimpering, supporting myself with one hand on the floor. I hear grumbling and shuffling, then suddenly I'm being lifted into a princess carry by George. I smile, happy that I get what I wanted anyways.

"You're so dumb." George says.

I loop my arms around his shoulders. "Thank you bubby." 

George grunts, but doesn't say anything else, carrying me straight for the bath. As we walk past Man and I's room, I catch a glance of him, pulling on pants, looking clean and shirtless. He stares.

Serves him right. He doesn't get to carry me up the stairs. 

George steps us into the bathroom. Nick is already there, spraying blood out of the tub, looking queasy. He looks up at us with a furrowed brow.

"I thought I told you—" He starts.

George interrupts, "She forced me into it." He says, then dumps me out of his arms to the side of the tub next to Nick.

Nick snaps a glare at me and I grin. I swing my hand to slap the tub. "Get outplayed, scrub."

Nick raises his eyebrows this time, face relaxing into something predatory. "I honestly assumed you wouldn't turn down an opportunity for that dude to touch you." He says.

I feel my face immediately heat with embarrassment, jaw falling open as I flounder to find the words. "Well— I— no— but—" 

Nick turns his focus back to the tub, finally cleaned. He starts the water and adds soap, running my bath. He smiles to himself, looking smug at my stuttering. 

I watch George go stiff for a moment, then he talks. "Oh. Oh. You want to—" I reach out to hit George before he can finish, pouting.

"I forgot that you can like— that you can like men— and they— and you—" 

It's my turn to laugh, seeing how flustered George is now. "What? You afraid of big muscled men kissing all over your sister?" I tease.

George makes a retching noise then spins and walks out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

I laugh again and lean back until my head is on Nick's shoulder. "Stop causing problems." I say to him.

The intention is sweet but it's... it's been so long. I never really even considered the possibility that one day I might be able to be with someone again, and I especially didn't think my first and only option was going to be a feral, murderous, man with razor teeth. The sum of which, makes it so that I can't decide if I want it... want that, with him.

Who am I even kidding right now? I'd let him break me in half and gnaw on my bones if he asked.

Nick reaches up to pat my head. "Fine." He says.

Before I can say anything else the door cracks open. Man peeks in, face unreadable, eyes searching me.

"Go away." I say. I'm about to be naked and he doesn't need to be here for that. 

The door opens slightly further. "Please." He says. It makes something in my stomach flip.

I sigh. "Fine. Come on in then." I say. I'm too freaked out and tipsy right now to care.

He listens like it's a command. The door opens and he just barely walks in. He sticks himself to the wall at the door, and stares, face stern. I roll my eyes, then look over at Nick to see him barely holding back a laugh. 

"I'll go." Nick says, then stands. 

I catch his arm and try to pull him back down. I look up at him with pleading eyes. Nick shakes his head no and pulls out of my grip, then walks out, shooting me a middle finger behind his back as he goes. I purse my lips, now alone with Man. Back to the inescapable staring contest. I'd bet he's winning. 

"You could go wait for me in the room. I promise I'm only gonna be in here a little while." I say.

He... stares. 

"Are you going to wait right there? The whole time?" I ask. 

He nods. Ugh.

"Turn around for a second. Don't look until I say you can." I say, sighing. Might as well get this over with.

Man turns, listening to that. Sometimes he can be a good boy, I will admit. I watch, just to make sure he isn't peeking, and shed my sticky, blood covered outfit. We're going to have to go into the city soon and raid some houses for clothes, especially with a whole new person staying here. 

Which I'm ready to admit. He is staying. Probably.

Once nude I sink into the bath, making sure I'm fully submerged. "Okay. You're good." I say.

Man turns back, eyes flicking down my neck to my bare shoulders. He stays silent, staring, decidedly not at my face. I clear my throat, hoping his eyes snap back up. They don't. I feel my face flush and blame it on the alcohol.

I swallow my nerves. I need to just ignore him so I can get through this bath and get to bed. I start scrubbing at the blood, alarmed at how pink the water turns. The silence in the room feels... heavy, after we've been able to talk all day. 

I scrub faster. 

It doesn't take much longer before I'm done and clean. I idle in the, now disgusting water, for a moment. "Can you just... You can sit outside the door if you really want I just—" I stutter around my words, feeling guilty for how severe his expression is.

Man nods once, curt, then steps out of the bathroom and closes the door behind him. I let myself relax for a moment, sighing. I get out of the bath, and spray myself off quickly. I grab a towel and dry off.

I'm about to hang it up when I realize I didn't bring a change of clothes with me. Fuck my life. 

I do my absolute best to wrap my towel around my body, double, triple checking that I'm covered before I crack open the door. Man's face snaps to turn toward me as I finish opening it. I don't look up at him, quietly slipping past to limp to the room. I can tell my ankle should feel worse, and quickly thank George's whiskey.

In the room I grab a night dress, and pull it on over top of the towel, adjusting until it's fully on, then pull the towel out from under, throwing it over my dresser to dry. Smooth moves. I turn, seeing that Man followed me in, but is staying back. 

I raise my brows, still avoiding eye-contact and limp toward my bed. I fall to the mattress with a fwump, looking over at my nightstand. There's ice and wrap waiting for me.

I lean forward fumbling for it and claw it over into my lap. Man finally moves as well, coming fully into the room to sit on the foot of his bed. I can feel his eyes hot on me the entire time I struggle with the wrap.

I've done this before. It seemed like when I first fled out here every single hole in the yard had a hit out on me. I spent six months limping around with a twisted, wrapped, ankle. Maybe I just have weak ankles. Though, it's been months since the last time I had to do this.

I hesitate for a second, figuring out where to start, but once I get it, the muscle memory comes back. I get my ankle wrapped and drop it to the floor, testing it out. It still fucking stings but the support helps a lot. I swing up to my feet and feel only moderate pain as I limp past Man to flip the light off. 

I roll my eyes as I realize the hallway light is still on. I'm not going to go turn it off. That's what Man is for. Now in the half-dark I start limping back to my bed. 

I finally look over at him and see him watching me. As is expected. "Can you grab the hallway light?" I ask, collapsing to sit on the side of my bed.

I watch to see him nod and stand, heading out the door, then focus back on my ankle. I swing my leg up and velcro the icepack onto it with a sharp inhale. 

Ice is cold, who would've known.

I see the light flip off, and blink, trying to adjust my eyes to the darkness. I feel... unsettled. Ugh, I'm still freaked out from today I guess. I lean over and light my candle for some ambient lighting and flop back in my bed.

Man re-enters the room, locking his eyes to me immediately. He hesitates, standing in the doorway. His face looks... constipated as he stares me down. I sigh. I just want to sleep. 

"What?" I ask.

"Can you show me a hug again?" He asks immediately, sounding hesitant. 

I freeze up, mouth opening, though I'm not sure what to say yet. I was nervously anticipating more awkward apologies and self-flagellation. This... I was not prepared for. 

I finally find my words. "Um... right now?" I ask. I almost punch myself in the face. Duh right now. He wouldn't ask if he didn't mean right now.

Man nods once, looking tense.

I stay silent, faced with the next problem. He's shirtless and I'm pants-less. And if there's anything I learned about today is that I'm not going to be able to handle that very well. I'm about to say no, when I look at his face one more time.

There's something very... vulnerable there, hiding under the scowl. I sit up, swinging both legs over the side of my bed with a huff. "Yeah. Come here I guess." I say, curling my fingers to wave him over. 

Man approaches quickly but gently, not getting anywhere near close enough for a hug. I huff a sigh, and reach my hands up to grab his arm and pull him closer. "I said c'mere." I say again.

Man finally steps close enough, knees bumping my mattress between my legs. I briefly consider standing, but decide against it. I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him into a hug, burying my face in his stomach. 

He stands there, stock still, every muscle tense. I don't know why, he's the one that asked for a hug. "You're supposed to hug back." I say.

Man stays tense. "How?" He asks. 

I feel my face contort, and release the hug, shifting further up my bed. He whines, following my movement just barely. I keep him back with a heel planted on his stomach.

"Do you know what a hug is?" I ask, careful. He shakes his head no. I sigh, dropping my leg back down, feeling my stomach jump as my suspicions are confirmed. 

"Okay... so..." I sigh again, biting my lip. I'm too embarrassed to look at him as I coach him through this. "Hugs are like... trust. You trust to vulnerable with me, and know that I won't hurt you so you express it with touch. You have to relax." I wait until I see his hands unclench then continue.

"What happens is you place your hands on me and use them to hold me and pull me closer until our bodies are touching, you get that?" I finally find the courage to look up, finding him staring down at me with a hilariously severe look considering the topic.

I have to hold back a laugh. "I do the same. You should do what I do to you as we hug. Though, the goal is to just get as much contact as possible. You think you got it?" I ask, searching his face. He nods.

"Okay. You can hug me." I say, scooting back and lifting my arms to give him space. 

Man moves closer, hands very gently slotting themselves at my sides as he leans over, hugging me like I'm glass about to break. I feel myself flush and loop my arms around his shoulders, hugging with all my might as I press my face to his neck.

Nothing could've prepared me for what happens next.

Man moves fast, determined. His arms loop around my upper body, squeezing hard enough that I slightly lift off the mattress. If that wasn't enough he pushes into it, dragging me up the mattress and following me down. 

We both land with a thump, Man between my legs and moving to press his face into me. I tilt my head back to make room, feeling my body start to heat as he buries himself in the small of my neck, snuffling.

I exhale, holding back a nosie, as he lets his body go limp, pressing me into the mattress. His arms are impossibly tight around me as I squeeze him in return. My stomach and heart feel like they're about to explode. Despite that, I feel something inside me settle. I didn't realize that I needed this too.

I bury my face in his hair, just breathing. We stay in silence for what feels like a full minute, essentially cuddling, while our legs awkwardly dangle off the bed.

Finally man shifts, pulling his face back to speak. "Is this right?" He asks. 

I take a deep breath to steady myself as I squeeze him with my legs. "Um... it's a little tight but yeah. Pretty much." I manage to say, barely keeping my cool.

He buries his face back into my neck. I feel his lips brush across the skin there, not moving, just existing. I almost roll my hips, feeling like I'm on fire. I can't take this. 

I slap at his shoulders. "Okay. That's enough. Off of me." I say, sounding strangled.

Man whines but pulls off quickly, then walks over to his bed. He sits down on the side as I adjust myself to laying the way I should lay in bed. I peel my ice pack off and slap it onto the end table. 

I spare Man another glance to see him sitting on his bed staring over at me. Before I can ask him what again, he speaks. 

"Thanks." He says, into the room.

I sigh, grimacing. "It's— you don't... it's a hug. You don't thank people for hugs." I say. He grunts in return. 

I roll over to blow my candle out, nerves from earlier settled. I curl up under my blanket. I feel Man's eyes on me as I start to drift into sleep, but it's starting to not bother me anymore.


	5. Crunchy

I wake up to a throbbing in my ankle. Ugh. 

Now that the whiskey has worn off I'm feeling the full force of the mistakes I made yesterday. I roll over, lifting myself to look out my window. It's quite a bit past sunrise, sun warming my face through the glass. 

I turn, placing bets with myself on whether or not Man will already be staring at me. To my surprise, his bed is empty. Confused, I sit up all the way. I guess I lost the bet, I was... positive I'd be getting stared down. 

I collect myself and decide to embrace my moment of peace, getting changed into my clothes for the day with no fear of being watched. The way I used to get dressed. I can tell it's a hot day so I go for not much, just shorts and a t-shirt. I don't think I'll be able to go into the city until my ankle is doing better anyways, so no need for clothes that cover up. 

I limp my way over to the bathroom and get ready for the day. I spend the entire time relishing in my peace, thinking about what I might cook for breakfast, what I might do with my day if I'm alone. I finally make my way downstairs and notice it's unnervingly quiet. 

"Bubs? Georgie? ...Man? Anyone here?" I pause for a second, listening to the silence.

I furrow my brow and walk— or more accurately limp— the house, finding it truly empty. I poke my head outside and see Nick's truck is gone. Where the fuck would they go without me? My brain has a brief moment of jumping to the worst conclusion. Man definitely killed them and then learned how to drive and drove them off to the bury the bodies and-

I notice Nick's missing tool box. Oh right. The fence. 

I laugh at myself and make my way back inside. How sweet. I would've helped, but they're letting me rest. I figure the least I can do is make breakfast and make my way over to make fun of them and watch. 

I quickly make muffins and load them into a bag while still warm. I limp my way outside, dragging the bag with me and get in the barn, seeing someone must've put the ATV away for me last night. 

"Hi, hungries." I say to the cats flooding me.

I quickly shake them out some food and drag the ATV back out, locking up the barn, then bee-line for where I know the fence got messed up. As I get closer I see the faded red of Nick's truck come into view and sigh in relief, I was right.

As I get barely close enough to see, all three heads snap up to look at me. Nick grins and waves before turning back, George does the same, Man stares at me, blinking and not turning. 

I pull up closer, taking in the scene in... much more detail. Nick is sitting on the dropped hatch of the truck bed in sunglasses, lounging with a book open. I know he's not reading, he just doesn't wanna work. What... a... huh— hmm—

My eyes find themselves... adrift. 

Man is shirtless, all lean muscle, sweating from working on the fence. I feel myself nearly salivate as my eyes graze down Man's abdomen, following a bead of sweat that I'd rather follow with my— enough of that. George is next to him looking rather... small, pointing at shit and telling Man where to hammer. Dictating. Also not working. 

Lazy asses.

I lift off the ATV, approaching Nick and pull myself up next to him. 

"Thanks for letting me sleep. I brought food." I say, unzipping my bag of cinnamon muffins and holding it in my lap. 

Suddenly I'm the focus as George comes over and Nick leans in, hands diving to grab food. 

"Thanks ugly." George says, lifting one. I hold back a laugh as he grabs only one, knowing him, which I do, he'll be eating at least five.

"Fuck yeah!" Nick says, grabbing three and shoving a whole muffin in his mouth immediately. I slap his shoulder.

"You're going to choke if you eat it like that." I chastise.

Man approaches more tentatively, slipping in once George steps back as Nick and I bicker over his muffin eating. I barely manage to flick my eyes up to his face, having to tear my attention from nagging my brother. He hovers questionably close, leaning forward to grab my ankle.

"How is it?" He asks, running his thumb along the bandage. 

I heat under the attention, leaning forward to bat him off. 

"It's fine. Leave it alone." I say, eyes quickly darting to his stitches. 

Man nods once, like that was a satisfactory and complete interaction, then turns away, heading back to working on the fence. Huh, guess he wasn't hungry. I turn in toward Nick, trying to peek at the book he's not-reading. 

"George decided they're going to reinforce the whole fence." He says. I look up at him, raising my brow. 

"That's going to take... so long." I say.

Nick looks up just to grin at me. "I know... something about free labor is bringing out his... motivation."

I turn back after that, rolling my eyes before letting them roam down Man's back. God I want to run my nails down it. Just once. My hand twitches as I think about it, clenching in my lap. I roll my head back, then rest it in my hand. I need to be stopped.

Nick has his book to pretend like he's doing something, but I don't bother with the false pretenses. Man can stare at me unabashedly, so I'll stare back. I let myself relax, dragging my eyes up and down his body as I settle into my position, cuddling with my bag of muffins.

We pass the morning like that, inching along the fence as I stare and Nick 'reads'. I think I hear him snoring at one point. Man returns my looks between working, but I don't relent. As expected, George keeps stealing muffins until they're almost gone. The sun gets hotter and hotter, until the heat is sweltering by noon. 

I groan, leaning over toward Nick like I've done a single goddamn thing. Like he's done a single goddamn thing.

"Can we take a break?" I whine out into the world.

George turns with a rather severe look. "Tired from sitting all day?" 

"Tired from talking all day?" I snap back. There's one person that has a right to be tired, Man, but he looks... unfazed. 

"Huh?" Nick follows, sitting up and waking up. "Yeah I could go for a break too." He says, then yawns. 

I look up at George, puppy-eyed. He huffs, then rolls his shoulders. 

"Fine." He says, simple, swiping one more muffin before collecting the tools and shoving them back into the truck. "Shot-gun." He says, glaring at me, then swings into the passenger seat. 

Nick grins, stretches, then hops out of the truck-bed to get into the driver's seat. Man stands there, staring at me, eyes curious. I slap down next to me.

"You sit here big boy." I say. 

Man nods, then walks up, slotting himself into the space. It's alarming with how much care he can handle himself being so... big. I glance over, watching a bead of sweat roll from his hairline, following the line of his face, down his neck.

I gulp.

Thankfully, the truck jerks forward, snapping me from my thoughts. I slap a hand out to steady myself as we start the bumpy ride. Sadly for me, the thing I slap my hand out onto is the thigh of Man. Fuck me. He looks at it. I look at it. I retract it, feeling every shade of awkward, then he looks up at my face. He doesn't bother to do anything but stare me down.

As he does.

As we pick up speed, the wind whips my hair. I close my eyes, it's not like I need them open to know I'm being stared at. I tip my head back, feeling the wind glide across my skin and cool me off. I'm startled from my moment by one word: 

"Hug?"

I open my eyes, barely turning to look at Man who's staring me down with a severity. 

"Huh?" I ask, having barely heard him over the wind. 

He leans in close, closer than I expect, arm extended behind my back.

"Can you show me a hug again?" He asks, loud, right into my ear. 

I balk, feeling embarrassed, slapping him away, remembering him crawling on top of me. I mean... I want to. God I want to. But it's embarrassing and— I catch a whiff of him, carried on the wind.

"No." I say, pulling back. There's a moment of confusion in his expression before I clarify. "I'll hug you tonight, okay? You smell like shit from working all day. I don't want to smell like that." I say, a good enough excuse to delay.

He nods, seemingly understanding, dipping his head to take a cursory sniff of his own shirt. I nearly burst into laughter watching it happen, then close my eyes and tilt my head to relax. I spend the rest of the ride uninterrupted, letting myself get caught in the wind, blissed.

Once we pull up to the house I run inside, bee-lining for the sink. I get myself a glass, fill it with water and down it. My brothers follow me in close behind, shoving me out of the way to do the same thing. 

Man comes in last, standing at the kitchen bar, watching me. I tilt my head. 

"You thirsty?" I ask him.

He nods.

"Get over here and get a glass then." I chastise, waving him in. 

He nods again, quickly circling the bar and walking up uncomfortably close to my back. Not what I expected. I tense up, trying to create distance between us. He looks... hesitant as he does his best to replicate what we did, pouring himself a glass of water. As his arms lift to drink, we all get a whiff of him. 

I cringe, body blocked in, but my brothers are quick to flee. 

As Man drinks the water, I hear something— odd. I tilt my head, listening, and realize it's his stomach growling,

I pout a bit. "Do you not like muffins or do you just not trust me?" I ask. 

He stares me down, expression unchanging. I try to stare back, but quickly falter, taking a step away from him. 

"I mean you're obviously hungry... why didn't you have some of these?" I ask, lifting the bag. 

"I didn't think I had permission." He says.

I pause for a moment, brain churning. Per—permission? To eat? Oh— oh my God. 

"Have you eaten? Like anything?" I ask in disbelief.

He nods and I'm almost relieved for a second, then he speaks. "Crunchies." He says, and my brow draws tight.

He can't...

He cannot mean...

"The food I give the cats?" I ask, quiet and severe.

He nods, and I feel my face warping into one of utter disgust. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" I ask.

I watch as he starts to falter, sinking in on himself. 

"I'm sorry—"

"No—no—no." I interrupt, brain still processing. "It's— that's— it—" I puff a sigh. Never make assumptions, I suppose. "It's just— that food is for the cats." I say, gentle. "The food I make is for us to eat. People food. People includes you." I finish, then push the bag of muffins into his hands. "Eat that. I promise it will taste better."

Man looks concerned as he takes the bag then dips his hand in, pulling a muffin. He takes a single small bite, then blinks, expression melting. After that, it's like watching a trainwreck. I stand in shock, watching as he devours the entire rest of the bag, standing, hunched over. 

Someone needs to housetrain this man. I suppose I'm someone. I'll let him off for this one, though, because if he's telling the truth he's only ate— cat food— for the past three days. He passes the empty bag back to me and I gingerly take it. 

"You still hungry?" I ask. 

He looks... blank. 

"You can tell me." I say, encouraging him. It takes a bit more probing but he finally nods.

That's fine. I needed to make lunch anyways. I turn back into the kitchen, opening up the fridge and pluck an assortment farm-fresh vegetables. I feel, and smell, a presence at my back and notice Man is sticking... close. I sigh.

"Get off my back. Go sit." I chastise. 

He listens, looking only a little hesitant, circling to sit at the bar. The silence is heavy, and I briefly wonder where my good-for-nothing brothers went. 

Whatever. 

I busy myself cutting vegetables, boiling some dried noodles, then sautéing, seasoning, and putting it all together. It's a— poor man's stir fry. Not any real dish. We're in an apocalypse, if any of them complain I'm not afraid to swing. 

Right as I finish cooking a massive serving— enough for all four of us and then some, Nick makes an appearance. 

"Hey. Can I talk to you?" He asks, just barely poking his head in. 

I look over at him. "About what?" I question, turning the burner off.

His eyes dart over to Man, then my eyes dart over to Man. Surprise, surprise, he's staring right at me. I give him a reassuring smile before looking back at my brother and rolling my eyes. I push off the counter and follow my brother. Man is up before I'm out the room.

Nick raises a hand. "This is private." He says. 

I look over my shoulder, noticing a conflicted look in Man's eyes as they dart between me and my brother. 

"It's okay." I say, soft. "Go get some food and eat. I'll be right back." 

For that, Man nods, and steps back. The second we're out of the room my brother has something to say. 

"Your puppy has some attachment issues." He says, sounding humored.

"Don't call him my puppy." I say back. 

"Fine. Your kitten." He says.

For that, I grimace. "Fuck you. Puppy is better than that. Don't call him— my kitten." 

Nick laughs, full-bodied, then flops down on a couch. I sit down with him. He's kind of right. Man is getting kind of... attached to me. To the point where he's only really listening to and talking to me. I suck my lip in, afraid to admit that... I might like it.

"So—" Nick starts, pulling me from my thoughts. "How's the ankle?" He asks.

I lift the ankle in question, unwrapping it for him to see. It's bruised and larger than it should be. He leans in, poking it. I suck in a sharp breath, jerking it away from him, then smack the back of his head. 

"Don't poke it, jackass." I chastise, starting to rewrap.

He laughs, ducking his head. "Sorry." He says, then looks a little more serious, worrying his own lip. "I connected a call last night on the radio." He says.

I sit up. He's connected a few calls before. They've often ended in trades and information about the state of the world. It's... invaluable when your access to information is nothing. 

"What type of call? Did you get information? Anything?" I ask.

He glances around the room, then leans in, looking even more hesitant. 

"You can't tell George." He starts, voice low.

My breath catches as I lean in, excitement starting in my chest. 

"What? What is it?" I ask.

"So—" He starts, voice just as low, low enough I strain to hear it. "I got connected to this guy. He tells me he's part of some— syndicate— mafia— gang sounding something. But, here's the kicker, you know that thing I'm working on in the old barn?" 

I nod, scooting in closer. He's been working on rebuilding a shitty old crop duster into functional use. Solar-powered functional use. He thinks if we have that we can get a better lay of the land. Keep ourselves... safer than safe. Maybe have a little fun. Most other aircrafts were completely destroyed or repossessed by the government during the initial wave of zombie panic.

It's been going... poorly.

"They have a part I've been looking for, among... other stuff I wanted. I offered a trade in two days." He finishes. 

"Trade?" I question, "What did you promise them?" 

He looks sheepish for a moment. "Told them I'd give them a bunch of guns, I think." 

I squint. "Nick. We own one shot-gun. And one hand-gun." I say. 

He grins. "I know— but— hear me out—" He starts as I glare at him. "That's where you come in! Come on— you're like— unkillable." He says.

I roll my eyes, leaning away from him. I hate him so much it's nearly unfathomable how stupid he is and the fact that— 

"Included in the things I'm getting is a copy of 'Wisteria'." He finishes.

My favorite book? That I haven't found anywhere? For that— I lean back in. "You're fucking with me?"

Nick shakes his head no.

"In two days?" I ask.

Nick nods. I consider my ankle for a moment, stiff. "And when they ask to the see the guns first?" 

"Talk 'em out of it." 

"And when George asks where I'm going?"

There's a pause where Nick thinks, before he seems like he's struck with an idea. "Just— tell him you're scavenging for clothes or food or something." 

I consider it, conflicted. "I would in a heartbeat but— I have no escape with my ankle like this. I can't run." 

Nick sighs. "Just— take your guard dog with you. Come on— you'll be fine. You always come back." 

At that... I'm nearly convinced. "I need to find Man some clothes anyways..." I say. That... plus the fact that I've seen him in action. I don't care who these people are. I don't think they'd win this fight. "Fine. I'll do it." 

Nick beams at me, leaning into my space. He tries to grab at me but I smack him off first, lifting to standing before he can even touch me. 

"Fuck off." I laugh, then make my way back out the kitchen. 

Man is sitting... exactly where I left him. I wonder if he's ate. I walk up to the pan on the stove and find it... empty. My brow draws tight as I turn and point at the pan. 

"Did you—" I start, puzzled.

Man looks up, eyes darting around. 

"The whole fucking thing?" I express in disbelief. It was enough to feed four. To feed five. Fuck. To feed six.

Man's eyes flick nervously. I watch as he starts to tense up. I go soft again, taking a calm tone. 

"No— hey, hey. It's okay." I say, trying to be soothing. He relaxes marginally and rests his eyes on my face again. "I can just— I'll just cook more." I say, humored. 

So I do. 

I spend the entire time cooking thinking about the book. Then the entire time eating... thinking about the book. And when we go back out to the fence... well... I think about something else that's big and tall and sweaty and right in front of me... and also the book. It was my absolute favorite book, though, it was never super famous. I read it in college, then reread it, and reread it, nearly every chance I got. I left my copy when I fled and haven't found a copy of it since. It haunts me.

We head back to the house just as the sun sets. I ride back alone on the ATV I drove up this morning. The cats swarm my ankles as I drag it back into the barn and get it to start charging. Man shows up a few moments after, hovering.

"I politely request that you do not eat cat food in front of me. I cannot handle it." I say, smiling, walking over to get a scoop of food to feed the cats. 

He stares at me, non-reactive, until the cat he came with shows up and threads his ankles. His gaze drops to it, as does his hand. 

I watch, humored. "Is that your cat?" I ask.

He looks up, curious. "My cat?" He asks.

"Yeah, like do you own— it." I ask.

He shakes his head no, then turns his eyes back down. "No. She found me in the basement. Like you did." He says.

I freeze up for that, remembering him chained to a wall in a puddle of his own blood... left to rot. Something about him is so... genuine that I nearly forgot. I laugh it off, awkwardly, then shift my focus to spreading food for the cats on the ground. It causes his cat to leave him as well, joining in the scrambled rush to shovel as many crunchy bits in as possible before the other cats get to it.

I watch for a moment, almost entertained, before I look back up at Man. He's... walking right at me, looking determined. I step back, surprised, heart thudding, and stumble over my own feet. I yelp, hands flapping out. Man darts forward, a single arm wrapping my waist and steadying me, helping me get back to standing. The second I'm confident on my own two feet, I bat him off.

"Why were you walking at me like that?" I ask, high, distressed.

He looks hurt for a moment. "After the fence you will show me a hug again." He says, sounding confused.

I fluster.

This fucking— idiot.

"Y-yeah. After the fence and after a wash." I sputter out. "You still— reek." I finish, quick, trying to delay the inevitable.

He looks... almost pouty. That can't be right... pouty? 

"C'mon." I mumble. "Inside. Shower. Then I'll fucking— give you your hug or whatever, alright?" I say.

He seems to relax for that, face melting back into neutrality as he nods. He follows me in, upstairs, then I leave him in the bathroom. I go straight into our room, stretching, and decide it's probably time to wind down for the night anyways. I change into another night dress, tie my hair up, get myself a glass of water, and settle into bed with a book.

A worse book.

As I read, all I can think about is how much I wish I was reading Wisteria. How I will be reading it in two days. I feel nearly giddy, gnawing my lip, not absorbing the words on the page as I read at all. 

I notice out of the corner of my eye when Man walks in, but don't think too much of it, still staring at the words on the page and thinking how excited I am to read my favorite book and—

My eyes catch. 

I— it— I— that—

I yelp, dropping my book and covering my eyes. Man is nude. Like full nude. And he's standing by his bed, drying his hair. 

"Clothes?" I question. 

"They... reeked." He says back.

I nearly shout, rolling out of my bed, stumbling out of the room, smacking into walls in my struggle to rapidly create distance. I slam my head into my brother's door as I fumble with the handle, forcing my way into his room. As soon as I'm in, I close the door, frantic.

Nick looks up at me, amused. 

"You're lucky I'm just reading and not—" 

"AHH—" I shout, interrupting him. I cannot take a single second longer in a house with three men. "Clothes. Give me clothes for Man." I demand.

Nick grumbles, but lifts to standing, going straight for a pile on the floor. He pulls out a few articles, slaps them into my hands, then flops right back down into his bed. 

I gulp, steeling myself, then slip out of his room, heading back to my own. I keep my eyes averted as I walk in. I throw the clothes onto Man's bed then turn, getting into my bed under the covers. Fully under the covers. Hiding.

"Put those on." I squeak. "Please." 

There's a grunt, then thumping and rustling, until there's silence. 

"Are they on?" I ask.

"Yes." He says back, from somewhere close.

I wait another moment, collecting myself before I slowly peel the blanket down my face. I startle when I find Man is standing directly next to my bed, staring down at me. I flinch. 

"Christ..." I mumble out, then manage to look back up at those eyes that constantly lock to mine. "What?" I question.

As soon as the word leaves my mouth, his brow draws tight. "Do I still reek?" He asks, simple, and I remember the hug. 

"No." I sigh, lifting the blanket, then getting myself up to sitting on the edge of the mattress. 

This is... awkward. More awkward than yesterday without the fuzz of alcohol to kill how embarrassing this is. Let's make this quick.

I force myself to lift my arms, hands hooking into the fabric of Man's clothes to pull him close, then finally I circle my arms around his waist and hold, pressing my face into his stomach. His hands land on my back, stiff, and squeeze. It's less than a second before I'm overwhelmed and break the hug, leaning back and away, eyes averted. 

Man makes an... interesting noise.

"What?" I ask, tilting my head back to look up at him.

He looks... severe, staring me back down. He stays silent until I fluster. 

"What?" I ask again as he tenses his hands at his sides.

"I don't—" He starts, then interrupts himself with a sigh. "I want to hug like yesterday. I don't understand."

I worry my lip. I was... afraid of that. I nod, once, swallowing my nerves, then scoot back up the mattress. 

"Fine." I mumble, lifting my arms, feeling my heart rabbit in my chest. I can't even look at him. "Come here then."

Man immediately lifts a knee to the mattress, crawling overtop of me and lowering himself to me until we connect. As I wrap around him, he wraps right back. I notice he's holding... tighter than yesterday. I tilt my head back to swallow, heart threatening to thump out of my throat as we press until our bodies are flush.

"You're getting better at this." I note.

"Practiced." He mumbles.

I pause, mind filled with thoughts of him surprise hugging Nick or George and squeezing them the way he's squeezing me, barely holding back my laugh, feeling some of awkward tension fade.

"How?" I ask.

"Tree." He says back.

My lips curl into a grin. "Tree?" I repeat. 

He nods where his face is pressed into my neck, pressing deeper. I do laugh, tilting my head back to give him better access. He accepts it, face pressing forward until his lips ghost against my skin. For a second, I freeze. I almost expect him to kiss. I almost want him to kiss. But, he doesn't, lips holding in place, warm breath passing them to hit my neck and send chills across my body. 

He was really... hugging trees. I feel my stomach dip.

This is too much again. I tap out on his back. 

"Hug's done." I say, tight. "Off."

Man lets out a small noise, a nearly missable noise, but listens. I relish the last moment of warmth before he pulls back up and off. He doesn't go straight to his bed this time. Instead he hovers for a just a moment, neck craned to stare me down, expression soft. I decide to just let him, looking back, until he's done. 

Once he finally turns, I pick my book back up and start to read. Once he's in his own bed, his eyes are back on me. I decide to ignore it as well as I can, reading my book and being... studied until it's time to sleep.


	6. Eggs

"Get up. Wake up."

I grumble, hearing Nick's voice, blindly batting toward where it's coming from. 

"Oh we're so hungry, oh we need food, oh we're going to wither into dust." 

I hear George's voice teasing me next, and finally crack my eyes open. Both of my brothers are standing near my bed, hovering, grinning like idiots. I suppose they've let me sleep in past sunrise the past few days. They must've gotten tired of it.

"Cook for yourselves— HEY!" I yelp as my blanket is ripped off.

"Wakey wakey. It's time for you to makey makey eggs and bakey." Nick says. I groan at that.

"You're so fucking annoying—" I grumble out. "Why can't you ever just cook for yourselves."

"Because you're better at it." Chirps George.

"You're a misogynist." I groan back.

"Yes." Says Nick, confident. "Now get up and cook before your poor brothers starve." 

"Starve, then." I grumble back, then roll to the side, away from them.

It's a mistake.

I feel the mattress dip as George climbs in, peaceful for just a second, then he slaps my back. I yelp, turning forcefully to glare at him. 

"Wake up kitchen elf." He says. He looks proud. I curl into a smile, ready to fight back.

"No— what are you doing in my bed step-bro?" I coo out.

George immediately grimaces and retracts, making gagging noises. 

"I hate you—" He starts, pulling back, quickly replaced by Nick. 

"You can't pull that shit on me!" Nick says, laughing, grabbing at me. 

I shout, slapping at him, until he's smacking me back. There's loud thumps at we hit each other back and forth, rough-housing and yelping. Nick gets me pinned with his hand planted on my face, maniacally cackling.

Fine. I'll cook their fucking eggs.

"Off— get off you fucking freak!" I yelp, thrashing, giving in.

Nick keeps pushing it, until my movement causes him to accidentally move. His knee plants to my stomach, harsh, and I yelp. 

"Ow-ow-ow-ow get off of me—" I whine out, choked, struggling to breathe as his knee digs in. "Help me—" I whine again, looking at George who's grinning. Nick keeps laughing, keeps pushing—

Suddenly, Nick is off. Though, the reason he's off is because of a massive arm wrapping his neck in a hold and pulling him off. I freeze up, breath labored as I fight to catch it. Man steps back, keeping Nick restrained. I look up to his panicked face then to Man's and see how severe he looks. I look over to George and see he's as frozen as I am.

"Let him—" I finally find my voice, sitting up. "Let him go it's fine— it's not serious— let him go—" 

Man's arms go loose, loose enough that Nick can get some foothold, shoving him back and off with a firm fist to his chest. 

"It was a fucking joke you dumbass." Nick spits out, shoving Man, who just stands there and takes it, before storming out of the room.

Man looks... confused, concerned, his eyes darting between me and George who looks almost... entertained, his brows raised, lips held tight.

I roll my eyes, pointing at the door. "Get out. Go console his bruised ego. I'll be down in a minute." I say with a sigh.

George nods then turns. I hear him break, starting to laugh before he's fully gone. Finally, I turn my attention back to Man. He's hovering, staring at me, brown drawn incredibly tight.

"Thanks. But you didn't need to do that, alright?" I start. He looks only more concerned.

"He was hurting you—" Man interrupts.

I sigh flopping back into bed and yawning, then crane my neck to look at him, stretching. "They're my brothers. It's jokes. They'd never actually hurt me. They want to protect me the same way you..." I hesitate, having to avert my eyes, "Want to." I finish, then look again. "And it's a two-way street. I want to protect them. So don't— rough 'em up, okay?" I finish.

Man looks severe, but nods. Once I get the confirmation I yawn again, kicking my legs out to stretch, rolling my shoulders. I only get a moment before there's a presence close at my side, Man hovering next to me, staring me down. Though, he looks much more... hesitant.

"Can you—" He starts, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

I close my eyes, nearly groaning, knowing what he wants. This is... so much to deal with after barely waking up.

Fuck it.

Whatever.

I wordlessly lift my arms, looking up at Man expectantly. I see his expression briefly soften before he's climbing into my bed and settling on top of me. I exhale as he presses me to the mattress with his full weight, his face pressing into my neck like he can crawl in and hide there. I briefly soothe the length of his back with my hands, then squeeze, tight. 

It could be my imagination, but I could swear I feel him shivering. 

I give him a full thirty seconds to torture me, snuffling against my neck and heating my everything. I literally count in my head. The second I hit thirty I slap with my hands. 

"Off." I demand.

Unlike Nick, he's off of me almost instantly, then walking back into his own space. 

I yawn one more time, swinging my now... incredibly warm and floaty body out of bed. I think about changing clothes, but remember I have to go cook. Seeing how close Man is hovering to me, I think better of it. Besides, what's wrong with cooking in pajamas? The sun isn't even up yet.

I stumble downstairs, meeting eyes with Nick who's sitting at the counter and skulking. George is sat next to him, looking bemused. 

"Sorry about that." I mumble, stepping up to swipe my hand through Nick's hair. 

He slaps me away.

"Three eggs. Over easy. Then you can talk to me." He says.

I roll my eyes, squinting at him, opening my mouth to say something terrible just as Man appears on the stairs. Nick turns his attention in that direction, glaring daggers. Man's eyes land on Nick for less than a second, expression neutral, before they move to settle on me and stay there. 

I turn my attention to George. "You got an egg request?" I ask him, deciding to be nice.

George seems to think for a moment, before he speaks. "Two sunny side up if you do toast. Three over hard if no toast." 

I hum, leaning over to check for bread. We still have some. 

"I can do toast." I say back, starting to pull out and prepare pans. 

As I get butter into position I look up at Man, who's standing at a distance, watching. 

"C'mere." I say, staring straight at him.

He doesn't even hesitate, just nods and walks up, circling the counter into the kitchen, crowding up to my side. At least he doesn't stink like sweat yet. 

"Do you know how you like your eggs?" I ask, already cracking George's into a hot pan.

I glance up to watch as he stares at me. His head briefly tilts like a dog's when it hears a word it recognizes, then he shakes his head no. My expression twists. I'm not sure why that gets to me. 

He... doesn't even know how he likes his eggs.

"Okay." I mumble. "I'll figure something out for you." 

I busy myself. I cook George and Nick's eggs simultaneously with one extra of each style for Man to try. I serve Nick, then George. By the time I'm back to cooking, Nick speaks.

"Fine. I forgive you. Only if you agree to train your puppy." He mutters. 

I squint, pouring my mix for an omelette into a pan, then dropping my spatula and walking over to lean across the counter and smack Nick upside the head. He makes a noise of protest. 

"He is trained. It serves you right. Listen when I tell you to get off of me." I say, huffy.

Nick makes a nagging, mocking noise. I turn, fast, spatula now in hand. He flinches, hands raising in surrender. Good, that's what I thought. 

I tend to my omelette, then pass the plate with one egg over easy, one sunny side up, and one over hard to Man. He takes it, still standing in the kitchen next to me. 

"Try all of those and tell me which you like best." I say to him. 

I look up at his face, passing a fork. He seems... cautious, eyes darting over to Nick and studying the way he's holding the fork before taking it from my hand. Still, once he gets the utensil, his movements are jerky, stiff. I nearly laugh, but stifle it. 

He finishes all three eggs standing in silence right as I put my omelette on a plate. I lean against the counter, holding my own plate and fork, looking at Man expectantly as he polishes off the last egg. My eyebrows lift as he starts to lick the plate. Though, I keep watching, almost fascinated. 

"So?" I start, once he's done. "Which do you like best?" 

Man stares me down. "All good." He says, simple.

I roll my eyes. "Thanks. I know they're good. But what did—" I lightly stab at his chest with my fork. "—you like best." 

He knits his brow. "I like them all." He says. 

I stare him down. He looks... earnest. I huff a sigh, then scoop a bit of my omelette, leaning in. 

"Try this one too, then." I mumble, lifting the bite to his mouth. 

He knits his brow, staring, eyes flicking between the food and me. I nod, trying to be encouraging. He leans in, almost hesitant, then takes the bite. I have to pull the fork from his mouth, watching expectantly. His face stays neutral the whole way through. 

"I like that one." He finally says, still close, staring at me. 

"More than the other eggs?" I ask. 

He nods.

I feel my grin split my face. "You like my omelettes the best, too?" 

He nods, again.

I keep beaming at him. I knew my omelettes were good. Nick always makes fun of me for them but my dad always say that—

There's a loud throat clearing from George. I turn to look. 

"I'm..." He gestures at his food with a fork. "Trying to eat, so, can you flirt somewhere else before I puke?" He says. 

My gaze turns into a glare, breath catching as I take two massive steps back. Flirting? I was not— flirting— I was— it— 

"Yeah, if you keep eye-fucking him these eggs are gonna be fertilized by the time I eat." Comes from Nick.

I turn my face back down to my food, feeling it heat, suddenly very focused as I shovel my food into my mouth.

I hate them. I should let Man kill them.

My eyes glance up to him. He's watching me, but his brow is knit is confusion. I have to duck my head again. I need out.

***

The rest of breakfast is... awkward. At least, it's awkward for me. My brothers, however, seem to have the time of their lives, sitting smug, knowing they embarrassed me into complete silence. I let out a breath of relief when they finally leave to do daily farm-work, then to tend to the fence. I force them to take Man with. 

Alone in the house, I do dishes, then change into my clothes for the day. A sundress. I assume I'm going to spend a massive chunk of my day sitting in the back of a truck doing jack shit but baking in the sun, so I might as well be comfortable. 

I pull meat to thaw for dinner, then finally decide it's time to leave the house. The sun has barely risen once I step out, book in hand. I go straight for the cats, feed them, then switch out all of their waters. I test my ankle a few times, deciding it's still too sore to walk, and pull the ATV out to drive toward the fence. 

I meet my brothers and Man exactly where I expect. Though, today, Nick is hard at work instead of sitting. I pull into a smile as I watch him swing a hammer, trying to show up Man, I think. Whatever. If his bruised ego gets this shit done faster so we can go back to bullshitting at home where we have AC, it's all the better for me. Though, I might be reluctant to give up on the... show.

Maybe the next time I'm in a city I'll find some paint or something so I can tell Man to—

I shake the thought, hopping up onto the truck-bed and opening my book. I would help. But I don't want to. So, I don't. Wah, wah, my ankle! My ankle hurts so bad! For sure!

I spend the entire first half of the day like that, sat in the truck-bed alone half-reading, half-oogling. Around noon we take a moment to drive back home for a break. I cook lunch. Man seems to understand forks... somewhat better. Once we get back out to the fence Nick forfeits on... whatever he was doing, going back to sitting in the truck with me and complaining. 

After shoving each other a few times for this morning, we come to a truce. We end up both falling asleep while Man works and George.... 'helps' by pointing at shit. I don't remember falling asleep, but I do remembering waking up, though. 

I grumble, stirring, seeing the thing that woke me up was George plopping down to sit right next to me. I shift away from him, squinting and yawning, processing that he's having a snack. I lean in to swipe some of it. 

As I eat, I look up, eyes catching on Man who's still dutifully working. I feel guilt. 

"Hey, big guy." I mumble out, soft. 

Man immediately turns his attention to me, almost like the words were shouted. I curl my fingers, beckoning him over. He listens, dropping his hammer and walking up close. Too close. He stinks like sweat. I lift my foot, pressing it to his stomach and pushing him back a bit, then lean over to swipe some of George's trail mix. Once I have a handful, I hold it out toward Man. He lifts his hands to accept.

"Take a break. Eat that." I say, suggesting. 

Man nods, tension in his body melting as he stops to pick through and eat the trail mix. I get another whiff of him and grimace.

"Poor Bubs." I mumble, humored. "All of his clothes are going to stink." I say.

George laughs, bumping me with his shoulder and glancing back at my still sleeping brother. 

"Maybe you should go get him some clothes of his own, sometime." George says. "If he's staying."

I perk up, remembering the... 'chore' I need to run for Nick. 

"I was thinking of going tomorrow." I start.

George immediately cuts in. "No." He says, simple. 

"But, I was—"

"No." George cuts in again, then looks at me and laughs. "With your ankle like that? No."

I squint at him. "It's fine. I can just bring Man and it'll be fine."

He squints right back, looking unconvinced. 

"Fine. Nicky can tie-break." I say, leaning over to shake him awake.

"That's no fair. Of course he's gonna say yes." George starts as Nick wakes up. 

"Say yes to what?" Nick mumbles out, barely conscious, blinking rapid fire. 

"Ankle-breaker 9000 thinks she can go into the city to get her puppy clothes tomorrow." George says.

Nick perks up, privy to my real intentions. "Oh c'mon Georgie. She'll be fine. When has she ever not been fine?" He says, yawning and stretching.

George hesitates, looking marginally more convinced, but I can tell he's not all the way there. 

"With my luck and big man's..." I turn to look at Man, watching as he finishes off the last bit of trail mix. "Intimidation factor..." I decide upon. "We should be just fine." 

George's jaw ticks, eyes following mine over to Man.   
"Did you even ask him? If he wants to accompany you?" He asks.

I purse my lips. Oops. I guess I didn't. I look up at Man. "Hey! Tomorrow I'd like to go into the city to find you clothes. Would you be okay coming with?" I ask.

He nods, wordless. I turn toward George to give him a thumbs up. George sighs lifting a hand to plant on the top of my head and force me to turn back to Man, then addresses him.

"You'll accompany her? To the city? Where you could get hurt or even die if you guys fuck up or get unlucky?" He asks.

Man nods again. I nearly laugh, the whole thing seeming— absurd. 

George barrels on before I can. "Can she trust you? Will you have her back? No matter what?" He asks. 

Man's expression stays neutral as he speaks.

"I'd give my life to protect her's." He says, like that's... something people say.

My entire body goes tense, lips parting in surprise at that little... tidbit. 

"Uhh—" Nick starts from behind me. 

"Um—" I butt in before he can continue. "No one is— you don't have to go that far. It's not— it isn't so serious." I say, though I feel breathless.

"Oh—k." Comes from George, "I—I guess you can go tomorrow." He finally relents. 

I blink, still processing the gravity of Man's words, entire face burning hot with embarrassment. My eyes flick across his face searching for the reason he'd say that, feel that, expect that. But, I get caught. Our eyes lock together, something magnetic and unspoken between us. 

He would... die for me? What?

I'm pulled from my focus by Nick laughing, leaning in to snag the trail mix bag from George. 

"Simp." He says, cackling. "Imagine dying for some random girl." He continues, shaking the bag into his mouth.

I turn, annoyed and fragile, punching Nick's legs as he shouts for me to stop. The day... eventually moves on. George and Man go back to work. They actually finish the fence before sunset. We take our separate routes home. This time, I feed the cats uninterrupted. 

As I walk back into the house, I scan with my eyes, looking for Man before I realize that I am. 

"Where'd he go?" I ask my brothers, who are already lounging, pulling out playing cards. As I ask, I hear the pipes start to run.

"Showering, I guess." Comes from Nick, then, "Fuck you, I'm going to deal, you always cheat." 

I turn my gaze toward the stairs, hesitating. 

"Nicky can you go pick him some clothes?" I ask my brother. "Just so there's not a repeat of last time." 

"Last time?" George asks. 

"Um—" I start, feeling my face heat from a second wave of embarrassment. "Yesterday, after he showered he came back into the room buck naked." I say.

"Oh?" Starts Nick. "Was it big?" 

My lips part in surprise. "I don't— how— why— I didn't look—" I say, flustered.

"It's like... average big." Says George.

I freeze, fish-mouthing, and Nick starts laughing. 

"How do you know?" Nick starts.

George looks up, brow furrowed. "I had to help the guy piss like... night one." He says, simple.

"Dude, you remembered it. You liked it, you freak." Say Nick, shoving at George. 

"What?" George says back in protest as I remain... shocked. "You're the freak. Whatever. Go pick him clothes." He says, shoving back.

Nick raises his hands in surrender, walking away and upstairs. 

I decide I need to ignore the conversation that just happened, instead focusing on cooking.

It's—

Cooking.

It's average—

Focus on the food. C'mon. 

Average big. It's average big. 

I feel heat bloom across my skin, swallowing around a lump in my throat. That sleeps in a room with me. That climbs into my bed to hug me every eight fucking hours. That would die for me, apparently. 

I numbly mash a spatula into the frying pan. I can't help that I'm thinking. Maybe the next time he tries to hug me I'll arch just right and—

Cooking.

How big is—

Fuck. C'mon. The food.

Six? Seven?

Please. The food. The food. The food. The food. The food. The food. The food. The food.

There's a thud at the stairs that catches my attention. It's just Nick returning. I shudder, finally shaking the thought even as it tries to settle deeper into my subconscious. I make it mere minutes without thinking about 'average big' before there's another thump on the stairs.

This time, it's Man descending them. No shirt. 

"No shirt?" George asks.

"Oh. Yeah. I ran out of shirts. I have to— wash them tonight." Nick clarifies.

Great. Really, no, really. That's great. That really is. Fantastic, even. 

Man's eyes land on me and I nearly puff. I can feel my heart rate spike. I was just getting used to getting stared at, but something about the new information I've just acquired has made it embarrassing again. Man strides right for me, walking into the kitchen. 

"I'm clean." He says, staring me down, expectant.

My breath catches, he can't mean— I glance over to see my brothers both watching us, bemused and curious. 

"Yeah? What about it? I ask aloud, praying he'll get the hint that this isn't the place. My prayers go unanswered. 

"Could we hug again?" He asks. 

I watch my brother's faces both warp into excitement, knowing I'll be made fun of for the rest of forever for this one. Whatever.

"Um. Yeah. Sure." I mumble, settling my spatula down, feeling tense. 

I can't not hug him. But there's no way in hell we're going to do what we've been doing. I step forward, careful, then wrap Man in a shitty half-hug, barely squeezing before stepping back. I don't even give him the chance to land his hands on me before I create distance. 

There's silence. Crickets.

I look up at Man, nervous. He's staring back, hands fidgeting, brow drawn tight in confusion. He opens his mouth to speak, but I speak first.

"You can go sit with George and Nick and wait for dinner if you want." I say, quick, before he can speak. 

I watch the line of concern between his brows carve deeper. He nods once, then steps away, going to sit with them. I breathe, barely, exhaling what feels like near oppressive tension. The next time I manage to glance over, I'm getting stared down. He always stares, but that's usually just looking. This one has intent, emotion behind it. 

I swallow again, nervous, and focus on cooking.

I'm stared at until I'm done.

Stared at through dinner.

Stared at as we go up the stairs.

Stared at as we enter our room.

The second we're alone Man nearly plasters himself to my back. 

"Why—" he starts. 

I know he wants to ask about the hug, but all I can think about is average big. I bat him away, fumbling to grab clothes from my dresser. 

"I have to bathe!" I squeak, pushing past him and rushing to the bathroom. 

The second I'm in I click the lock shut and exhale. Why is this hard? Why would George say that? I was living a peaceful life not constantly thinking about—

I punch the tub to shock myself out of my thoughts. It works. I refocus, briefly considering drawing a cold bath to cool this... heat, but decide I'd rather have a warm one. I get the water as hot as I can, pour soap in, then climb into the water, trying to relax, head... incredibly occupied.


	7. Wild Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: no smut yet, but it does get a little risque. i’ll up the rating to E once there’s smut.

My hand glides across the soapy film sitting atop the water. 

Average big.

Fuck me. I can't stop thinking about it.

I roll my head back on my shoulders, feeling the sweat dot along my neck and collect at my collar. I start to focus on actually bathing, scrubbing with the soap like I can scrub away my thoughts. It doesn't work. 

As I glide the soap across my chest my nipples rouse with interest. I take a shuddered exhale, mind... drifting. Is it because I'm pent up? Is that why I can't get 'average big' off my fucking mind? I mean, it's been at least a year since I've been with another person, and nearly a week since I've been with my hand now that there's... someone sharing my room with me.

Someone who's tall... lean... studies me, watches my body, with massive... warm... hands... My own hands find themselves exploratory. Maybe if I just... take care of myself I can stop thinking about it. I land a hand on my stomach, tracing the curve of my waist with my fingertips, up my ribs.

I wonder how he'd touch me? How would his skin feel? His breath? His mouth? Would he keep those pretty eyes locked to me the way he always does? Or would they fall shut when I bite the tendon that jumps at the base of his neck when he's thinking? 

I finish lifting my hand, fingertips teasing my quickly stiffening nipple, then cup my breast.

I shouldn't... I shouldn't think about him. That's not— it isn't— it's not smart, and it definitely won't help ease the flutters that are starting to fill my stomach every time those big... rough... warm...

My eyes flutter shut, my hand on my chest becoming more demanding. I feel my hips shift, tilting under the water, legs just barely starting to part.

God those hands. Those big hands.

I exhale, soft, head rolling back. It can't hurt to think about him. It's— of course I'm going to think about him. Why wouldn't I think about him? 

It's a natural. 

Physiological. 

Response.

I exhale, quiet, as I imagine that big honest man crawling into my bed and taking care of me. I wonder how gentle he'd be... he sometimes handles me like glass. Maybe he'd ask for a hug, and it would start as just a hug. Then, he'd stuff his face into my shoulder, press his mouth to my skin. But, this time, he'd kiss, soft. It might even be an accident.

I lift my fingers to my neck, tracing down my throat feather light.

Would he? Would he be gentle? All kisses, caresses, tender care? Or... would... he...

My mind drifts again, somewhere hungrier, somewhere darker. Maybe he'd try to be gentle, but he'd get too excited once I start to make him feel good. He'd snap his hips, accidentally bite down as he kisses—

I remember the teeth, a moan passing my lips. 

He'd use those teeth, dragging them down my stomach, though careful, he'd accidentally draw pin prick blood. He'd clean it off with his tongue, hot and heavy, grazing down my stomach, lower, lower... lower—

I sit up, startled, shaking off my thoughts, blowing a heated breath. What am I doing? I literally have to go be in a room with him the second I'm done bathing. I can't— I can't do what I'm currently doing.

I try to focus on washing myself, but my brain drifts again. It's more innocent this time, just recalling the way he hugs me, how tight he holds, how solid he feels in my hands. It makes my hips rock, then I nearly sob in frustration. I can't be acting like this over a fucking hug. 

He's probably going to ask me to hug him again as soon as I'm back in the room— how am I supposed to—

I dive into the water until I'm fully submerged, then shout. This is testing my sanity.

After letting that out, I manage to focus, scrubbing every inch of skin especially rough. Once done, I tilt my head back, staring at the ceiling. I'm not ready to go into the room yet, to get grabbed, squeezed, held like it means nothing, to get looked with those big, earnest eyes.

I close my own eyes, drawing in a heavy breath. I'm going to loiter here as long as I can, delaying the inevitable.

***

I wake up, startled, splashing around in the bath. The water has long gone cold. I stretch, yawning, rubbing my pruned fingers together, and finally pull the plug to drain the tub. 

I guess I passed out. I don't remember doing that, but I feel... somewhat better. There's no more ache in the pit of my stomach demanding attention. Maybe I'll be able to face Man, hug him, have a conversation, if you call me talking at him while he grunts and occasionally says one word a conversation.

I dry myself, finish getting ready for bed, don't think about his lips as I apply chapstick, then slip into my pajamas. It's another nightdress. I love nightdresses, even ugly frilly ones, ones that look like a grandma might wear them. They're all comfortable. 

I hesitate at the door, hand on the knob, then take a heavy breath. It's fine. Nothing has changed. Average and big are just two words, and they mean nothing to me. 

Okay.

I open the door, and slip out. I flip the hallway light off, then finally step into my room. I can feel eyes on me, but refuse to look up and meet them. I walk straight ahead to my bookshelf in the back of the room. I pick a new book to occupy myself, then walk to my bed. I hop in, sitting atop my comforter and crack the book. 

I'm reading.

I'm gonna read.

I love books, and I love reading, and I'm going to read. 

The hairs on the back of my neck stand alert. Man's eyes nearly burn with the way they stay locked to me.

"What?" I finally bite out, all without ever looking up. 

I hear a grunt, rustling, then: "That wasn't a hug." 

I sigh, still staring at my book. "Yes it was. You just don't understand what a hug is." I say, eyes locked to my book. I haven't read past the first sentence. 

"But hugs are—" he starts. "When we touch. In your bed." 

I make a wild noise of my own, finally looking up to glare. He has no idea how that just sounded.

"That's— that's— that's a type of hug, yes. But what happened in the kitchen is also a hug." I say, flustered. 

Man's brow draws tight. He sits up in his bed, eyes locked to me. "I like the other type better." He says.

I swallow around my tongue, ready to club my own head in. My eyes flicker down, brief, before I steel myself and lock eyes with Man again. 

"You can't have the big hug whenever you want. But especially not with my brothers standing there watching. Hugs can be different depending on the situation. You understand that?" I say, stern.

Man nods.

I continue. "If you want a big hug. Ask me when we're alone."

"Like we are now?" He asks.

"Yeah..." I sigh. "Like we are now."

"I want—" He starts.

I toss my book to the side and lift my arms. "Yeah. C'mere." I sigh out, not even bothering to reposition.

Man swings out of bed, walking toward me, looking determined. I roll my eyes back in my head as he approaches the side of my bed. 

I feel the all too familiar dip of the bed from his weight, watching as a massive murder machine crawls into my bed, mashes his face into my neck and presses my body into my mattress with his full weight. I exhale, then wrap his shoulders tight and squeeze. I'm surprised when he takes a shuddered breath, then wraps me up and squeezes right back. It's tight enough the air knocks from my lungs.

You know... I bet he would accidentally be too rough... get excited the second he gets his hands on me and—

I bite my own tongue to shock myself out of the thought. I really can't be doing this while he's on top of me. In my arms. 

It's probably been enough time. I could kick him off. 

So why is it that I desperately want not to? Despite how overwhelming it is, it's also— I'm startled from my own thoughts by Man speaking.

"I'm sorry that I don't know things." He says, quiet. 

I melt, softness and sympathy making my heart ache for him. I soothe up his back to his shoulders and squeeze. He lets out a noise that makes my stomach jump. 

"It's okay. When you don't get something you can always just ask me. I'll do my best to explain." I say. 

At that, Man's head moves out from my neck. His face tilts up to look at me. We sure are— I gulp— really close like this. I can feel his breath on my lips, see every detail of his face. I could count his eyelashes if I wanted. I almost want to lean in, meet his lips, see what—

"What is eye-fucking?" Man asks, brow drawn tight.

I tense up. I hate my brothers. 

I nearly whine, slapping at his shoulders. 

"Off. Get off. Right now." I say.

There's a flicker of hurt and confusion across Man's face, but he listens, getting off of me and moving to standing at the side of my bed. I huff, frustrated enough to cry, and kick out, fighting my blanket until I can get under it.

"I'm sorry— I didn't—" Starts Man, looking lost.

"Go ask Nick." I say, simple. "He's the one that said it. Go ask him." 

Man stiffens. "I don't like him." He says.

I bark a laugh. "Me neither. But, I'm not going to tell you what that means. I didn't say it." 

Man nods, looking tense again, then turns, walking straight out of the room. I thrash around in my sheets, fumbling for my book, then rip it back open. Before I can finish the first sentence I hear a roared laugh from Nick. Heat creeps it's way onto my face.

I hate him so, so, so, so much.

I refocus. After way too long, I finally manage to read the first sentence and groan. I don't think I like this book. I kick out again, just throwing a fit at this point and swing out of my bed. I return the book to the bookshelf, then step out of my room. I briefly look down the hallway, seeing Nick's door is open, and hear muffled speech that I can't quite make out. 

I'm tempted to eavesdrop, but think better of it, instead descending the stairs to the lower level of the house. I bee-line for the kitchen before I realize that I am, snatching up the kettle. I fill it with water, then drop it to the stovetop. I lean against the counter, staring off into the distance, waiting, decidedly not thinking about the way 'eye-fucking' sounded as it rolled off Man's tongue.

Nope. Not me.

I only make it a moment before I hear something tapping at the door. I furrow my brow, confused. It sounds exactly like—

"Baby Bear?" I say, aloud, hopefully, opening the door.

Behind the screen sits the cat that came with Man. I sigh. I really thought that it was— whatever. The cat lifts onto it's— or I guess her hind legs, pattering her feet against the screen door. I roll my eyes.

"Gimme a second. Damn." I mumble, then open the outside door. 

The cat chirps, striding in, confident. She threads between my ankles, dragging her tail across my legs, walking right past me. She hops onto the counter chair, then hops onto the counter. There, she sits down, watching me expectantly. 

I stare at her.

"Something you want?" I ask, deadpan. 

She looks at me, turning her head away as she stands and stretches, before settling in to lay down. I sneer at her. She's no Bear.

...still, as I walk past on my way back into the kitchen, I lift my hand, gliding my fingers through her fur down her spine. She's soft. 

The kettle whistles, and I watch, bemused at the cat's ears fold back into her head. I turn the heat off and lift the kettle. I realize I didn't pick a drink. I walk over to a cabinet, open it, and stare. Tea... cocoa... I lift a packet of apple cider. Somewhat random, but it sounds good. I find a mug, empty the powdered mix, then pour the water. I stare at the cat as I mix it all into a drink.

I pull the spoon out and the cat looks alert. I lift the spoon to her and she sniffs briefly before becoming disinterested and settling back again. 

"We both found him, huh?" I say aloud, quickly darting my eyes around to make sure neither of my brothers are around to berate me for talking to a cat.

I rest my head in my palm once I'm sure I'm safe, staring the cat down as she slowly blinks and starts to settle.

"Does that mean we have to take care of him? Because we found him?" I mumble, chased by a yawn. 

"He certainly has been taking care of us." I say, pushing my hand forward to scratch under her chin.

He's saved my life twice, but I suppose I may have saved his just as many. I keep scratching the cat, watching as her eyes narrow until they're shut, her melting like butter in a hot pan against my palm. I stay like that until my cider is gone, then finally readjust to walk around and actually sit in a seat. 

Once seated I pull out my phone. I honestly have no idea why I keep it on me. Habit, I guess, from when it used to be... useful. For now, though, it exists as a clock and calculator. Well, and, downloaded games machine. 

I tap on Solitaire, like some kind of grandma, just wanting to waste time. I don't expect to get invested. One second I'm tapping replay after the first game, the next my phone is dead.

"Oh." I say aloud, watching the screen go dark. 

My eyes flick up, searching for the time. I find it on the oven. 12:28 am. Oh. I've been down here for— actual hours. I yawn, feeling a random crash of sleepiness now that I've acknowledged the time. I stand, lifting my phone, then after a moment of hesitation, lift the cat as well. She's stayed with me the entire time, so I figure I'll take her to bed, too. Maybe she'll sleep with me. Or Man.

I make my way back upstairs, surprised when I find the light in our bedroom is still on. As I step in, my eyes flick over, landing on the form of Man in his bed. His entire body is drawn tight again, face warped into a look of concern and pain. Before I can think to do anything, the cat writhes, getting out of my arms and jumping onto Man.

He wakes up, letting out a harsh noise, jerking up to a sitting position and bearing his teeth, eyes rapidly darting around.

The cat and I have the same reaction. We stand, still and patient, waiting for him to be done. I watch the consciousness and recognition form on his face, something in his expression softening. 

"Sorry for waking you." I start, quiet. 

He nods, meeting my eyes briefly, before his focus shifts to the cat. He buries both hands into her fur, and she immediately settles, curling up in his lap.

"She likes you so much more than me." I say, pouting, hearing the cat start to purr, something it didn't do for me all night.

She looks so warm and soft and— fuck it. I step forward, then gingerly lower myself to sitting on Man's bed. He goes still, watching me do it, then watches me lean back and card my fingers through the cat's fur.

"You should name her." I say, drawing my legs up onto the bed, leaning in closer to coo over and pet the cat. "She's so pretty." I sigh out. 

Maybe I like her, even if she isn't Bear.

"Name her?" Man asks. 

I'm... not prepared for it. His voice is low, still sleep-rough. My hand pauses in it's movement as I take a sharp breath to steady myself.

"Yeah. A name. Like how George is George and Nick is Nick. Unless you think you should both be nameless? Man and Cat?" I say, clicking my mouth shut as I realize I'm rambling a bit. 

He spends a moment looking like he's lost, before he speaks. "I'll think about it." He says, meeting my eyes.

I nod, and start petting the cat again. After that, it's like back to normal. Man keeps his eyes locked to me, studious. 

"What?" I ask, lifting a hand to my face. "Do I have something on me?" I ask.

I know that I don't, but maybe if I point out his staring every time he's doing it he'll start to feel weird and stop.

"Hug?" Drops from his mouth.

My eyes roll back into my head. 

"Maybe." I say, it's mostly just to tease. I'm a bit sleep deprived.

Man makes a noise, brow drawing tight in confusion.

"You think you deserve it? Three in one night?" I continue, but lift onto my knees, moving closer toward him.

I ball my dress up at my hips so it doesn't get caught as I move to swing a leg over his thigh. I sit down on it. Man's eyes dart from my legs to my face. He cautiously leans back, but not all the way. He seems... lost. It's actually pretty funny. I lean in closer, then point at his cat. 

"If you want a hug, you gotta move her." I say. "I don't wanna squish her."

He nods, eyes locked to my face, but scoops the cat as gently as one possibly could. He breaks his stare to turn to the side, lowering the cat to the floor. She stays completely pliant, letting him do it. I watch as her paws hit the floor, and she flops over to lay there instead. I nearly laugh, but it's caught in my throat as Man's attention turns back toward me.

He lands both hands on my hips, trying to tug me closer, but doing it so gently that I don't actually move. 

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Just hold on." I mumble, feeling my face start to heat as I realize the position I've put myself into. 

I lift back onto my knees, very carefully moving higher on Man's body. I plant a hand to his chest, guiding him to lay flat instead of continuing this weird half-laying half-sitting up thing he was doing. 

Just as I get close enough to fold into the hug, Man speaks. 

"You're on top." He says it like a question.

I have to close my eyes, taking a steadying inhale. He really... is clueless, especially when he speaks. I decide to not address how bad it sounded. Instead, I say. 

"Yeah. I'm on top." 

I fold, collapsing until we're pressed flush, our stomachs brushing in tandem with our breath. I lift my arms, jamming them underneath of him, then mash my face into his neck. Uno Reverse.

It takes Man a moment, but he lifts his hands, hesitant, landing them on me. They feel heavier like this. Maybe it's just the way he's resting them on me. I go lax, then stretch to settle in, squeezing him tight. I think I'm starting to get used to this.

I feel myself rise as Man's head ducks, pressing into my hair and drawing a massive inhale. 

I freeze up. "Did you just... sniff me?" I ask, in disbelief.

Man grunts in reply, then inhales again. 

I lift to my elbows, out of his neck, to stare him down. He looks unashamed, neutral almost, eyes flicking across my face. 

"You can't sniff people. You know that? You have to know that." I chastise.

He tilts his head to the side, eyes finally staying steady and holding direct contact with mine. 

"Why?" He asks.

"I—I," I start stuttering, but stop myself, swallowing the words. 

My eyes flick, down from his, toward his lips that are just barely parted. I can feel his breath again, our faces close the way they were earlier. My eyes flick back up. 

He has pretty eyes. They're green I think. His lashes are thick, curly, framing the emotions he expresses when he looks. He's always looking, but I find myself looking now, too. I follow the shape of his face with my gaze, tracing it, leaning in.

I don't miss the way Man's hands get tighter, keeping me flush to him. It's a tender moment, a breakable one, a communicative one. This isn't... a hug. I don't know what this is, but this isn't a hug. I feel my own lips part as I lean in, close enough that our breath is shared. We search each other's faces, silent, leaning into the moment of tension and want.

Should I just kiss? Wait, would he... would he know what a kiss is? What are the ethics of that? Should I explain a kiss before I try or should I—

"Is this eye-fucking?" Man asks.

I—

I really hate my brothers. I hate Nick. Fuck Nick.

I sit up, staring down at him, now just sitting on his stomach.

"...is it?" He asks.

"I'm going to bed, now." I say, deadpan, then move to get off of him.

The second I try, he makes a noise, pulling me right back down. Except— I had shifted. Lower. He tugs me right down into his lap. I feel in full contact what average big means— pressed directly between my legs.

"I'm—" He starts.

"Let go of me." I interrupt, voice pitched high, thighs tensing.

Man's face pulls tight, but hands retract as though burned. I immediately get up and off of him, then out of his bed.

I make it back over to my own bed and crawl in under the covers, hiding there. My face is... hot with embarrassment. I bury my face in my pillow and silently scream with frustration. I only have a moment of peace. 

"I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong?" He asks, hesitant.

I'm not responding to that.

"I'm sleeping now." I say back. "No more talking." 

I get a grunt in return, but no words. At least he's a good listener.

True to my word. I go to sleep.


	8. Music

I pause, twisting my arm in my grip nervously. 

Man is... twitching, jerking, whimpering in his sleep again. It was audible enough to wake me up. I reach forward with my hand, then falter. I see a flash of his hands wrapping around my neck and take a step back. 

I decide to just... leave him. I need to get ready, anyways. We're going into the city to find him some clothes today, as well as do Nick's 'trade'. I've already decided we're leaving as early as we can. It's just in case something happens, or if I take longer than I expect. I assume I still won't be moving as well as I normally do because of my ankle. I'm proven right as I try to put pressure on it and suck in a sharp breath. 

Shit still hurts.

I go to my dresser, quiet, and grab my clothes for the day. I have to cover up... somewhat, just as a protective measure. I end up hopping into jeans and a long sleeve. I pluck an overshirt as well, but throw it over my shoulder for now. Despite needing to layer, it's still summer, and its still hot out. I'm not putting that on until I need to.

Dressed, I snag my backpack and make my way downstairs. I know I need more rubbing alcohol and more gauze. I think I also lost a knife. I restock my entire bag, then drag it out to my car, tossing it into the backseat alongside the cat carrier.

Can't hurt to look for Bear while we're out.

I make my way into the kitchen and start the coffee machine, still loitering. I really don't want to go wake up Man. He'll wake up on his own... probably. I make sure to make extra noise as I dive into the cabinet, digging for a pan. I need to eat breakfast anyways.

After a few moments of cooking, Nick appears on the stairs.

"Banging pans together for fun?" He grumbles out.

"Yes." I reply back, then make sure to lift and slam the pan back down. The noise is enough to make him flinch. 

He approaches, groaning, palming at his eyes. Once he blinks them back open, they get caught. 

"Is that coffee?" He asks.

"No." I start, "It's brown water. I thought it would fun to dye some water first thing in the morning."

"Ooh. Brown water. Pour me some." He says.

"Pour it yourself." I say back.

"Why are you so grumpy?" He asks, yawning and stepping into the kitchen to get his coffee.

"Because you decided to use the word eye-fucking and make George say 'average big' and now I'm haunted by it." I bite out.

Nick huffs a quiet laugh. "Well... I mean... you were— hey!" 

I elbow him, forcing him to spill some of his coffee. He turns to glare.

"What did you even tell him it meant?" I question.

Nick continues to chuckle. "Well, I said when two people love each other very much they— hey— knock it off!" He's interrupted because I elbow him. Again.

"I hate you. And I hate the word eye-fucking." I say, huffy.

Nick rolls his eyes. "What does it even matter if big guy says it? It's a funny word." 

"Because." I start, peering to watch as he circles back out of the kitchen with his mug to sit. As soon as he's seated he lays his arms on the counter and drops his chin where his wrists rest.

"Because?" He asks.

"Because." I start, holding up the spatula and making bedroom eyes at it, "When I longingly gaze into his eyes and lean in to grab his average big—" 

Nick makes a bunch of noises, interrupting my speech. I turn to look at him, grinning, seeing his face is flushed red. 

"Don't tell me. I don't need to know." He says.

I roll my eyes. "Promise you won't say eye-fucking, and I promise I won't tell you about what we do in bed."

Nick goes silent before: "What you do in bed?" He asks, low, sounding... not happy. "If you're already doing... stuff with this guy I'm going to skin him." 

I turn to face him. "No. We just hug. And eye-fuck. A lot apparently. Maybe I should get a pregnancy test while we're out today and cry on it." I tease.

Nick shivers, face twisting into disgust.

"Don't—" He starts, then sighs. "You win. I won't say eye-fucking again." 

"Thank you." I coo out. 

We're silent for a moment, room filled only with the sizzle of my eggs cooking and occasional gurgle from the dusty ass coffeemaker before my brother speaks again. 

"So..." he starts.

"So." I say back.

He makes a noise, then pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket. 

"This has the address you're gonna meet my link at. Guy said his name was like... Blade or some shit, I think." He says.

I laugh. "Blade?" I question.

"Yeah, and when you meet today he might—" Nick goes quiet as we both hear a thump. 

I watch as George appears on the stairs, as though on queue. Nick carefully pushes the piece of paper forward and I lift it, tucking it into my own pocket before George lands in the kitchen.

"Hey." He mumbles, just as sleepy as Nick was.

"Hey." I say back.

"Do I smell coffee?" He asks, approaching the counter.

I nod, wondering what Nick wanted to say.

"Could I have some?" He asks.

"Sure." I chirp, then dutifully pour him a mug.

A service for my older brother who doesn't get Man to start saying the word eye-fucking, even if he was the culprit of average big.

Nick immediately protests. "Fuck you? Don't give that to him— I had to— hey— I had to get my own!" 

I pass over the filled mug. George sips it, a smug smile spreading his face as Nick complains. 

"Tastes like the privilege of being the eldest." He says.

I roll my eyes. "Don't get too full of yourself. It's more like the privilege of not being an asshat." 

"Ah—" George starts, sipping again. "The privilege of not being an asshat."

Nick protests. It quickly devolves into the two them quarreling, each calling the other more derogatory names and the most annoying. Though, their bickering falls silent for the next thump. It's louder than their thumps, followed by heavy footfall.

We all turn to watch as Man appears on the stairs. He's holding his cat. As soon as he's in eye-sight, he looks right at me, gaze nearly burning with it's intensity, before he walks right past and out the door. We all watch him do it, somewhat... mystified. 

"What was... that." George says, then sips his coffee again.

"I have no idea." I say back, opening the cabinet and setting out plates for everyone.

I turn the burner off, plate food for me and Man, then shove the pan in my brothers' general direction.

"So you're gonna leave early today?" George asks, the second he has food in his mouth. 

I swallow mine first before speaking. "As soon as I'm done eating. Figured I'd want as much time as possible since my ankle is still... busted." I finish my sentence quieter, lifting my ankle up to myself like I need to protect it.

"Makes sense." George says, shoveling as much food into his mouth as he can before speaking again. "While you're out, do you mind looking for some sutures and antiseptic? I used a bunch on your puppy." He says.

I pause for a moment, processing the words. It used to be... fun to call Man puppy, but now that I've felt his entire 'average big' press between my legs it feels... a bit weird. 

"C'mon, he's a human being, not an animal. Talk about him like a person." I chastise, but it's quiet, unconfident.

George hums, brief. "Well, what am I supposed to call him? Did he tell you his name?" 

I suck in my lower lip. "Well... no. But, I've been calling him Man."

Nick bursts into laughter, choking on his eggs. "Just 'Man'? I'm not— I'm not doing that." 

"Yeah that's... you can do that one alone." George tags on.

Before I can sneer at them, the door swings back open, Man appearing decidedly... catless and staring at me. There's an immediate silence that descends, George and Nick suddenly very focused on their food. I can see a slight red tinge to the color of Nick's cheeks.

"Where'd you go?" I ask, pushing a plate at him. "This is yours." 

Man steps up to the counter, eyes darting down to the plate then back up to fix to me. 

"Crunchies." He says.

I make a noise. "Tell me right now you didn't just go eat the cat food again." 

He shakes his head no as George's head perks up in interest. 

"Again?" George asks, but he's quickly ignored.

"I didn't. I put it out for the cats." Man says.

I smile at him, leaning forward to ruffle his hair the way I always do with my brothers. He freezes up as I do it, looking lost.

"Good boy." I say, smiling and sipping my own coffee. "God that hits the spot." 

"Again?" George repeats, just to be ignored the same way.

"What is it?" Man asks, walking around the kitchen counter until he's at my side.

"Coffee?" I ask.

He nods, eyes searching the cup.

"Again?" George repeats. 

I finally respond. "He was eating cat food up until two days ago when I introduced him to being normal. Catch up." I say.

"Yeah Georgie, catch up." Nick mocks back, though, he equally wouldn't have known.

"Wanna try?" I ask, pushing the cup at Man.

He takes it, gingerly, the way he handles everything, then lifts it to sniff. I watch his face scrunch up in complete disgust, but he pushes forward, drinking from the mug. He holds it in his mouth for less then half a second, then spits it directly back into the mug and hands it back to me.

"I don't like it." He says.

I blink, slow, still processing, and take the mug. 

"I got that much." I say in reply, walking toward the sink to pour my drink down the drain.

I instead fill the mug with water, and pass that off to Man. He finishes the whole thing like it's a shot, then passes it back to me. I take a moment to stare at him.

"Dude." Nick starts, and I shoot him a look. "You're such a fucking freak." He says, and my look turns into a glare.

Man turns his gaze to Nick, staring him down. Nick tries to stare back, but quickly falters first, eyes turning back down to his plate sheepishly. I could swear I see a smile tugging Man's lips as he turns away. Is that a sense of humor hiding in there? Under the layers upon layers of what seems to be immense trauma?

I squint at him, searching. I'll figure you out, yet.

I push my food around a little longer, eventually eating it, making sure I finish at the same time as Man. As soon as I'm done, I throw my dish in the sink.

"Okay. I'm about to go." I announce, putting the over shirt on correctly.

Nick stands up, hovering near the door like a protective father. It's almost humorous. I hug George's back, because he's too good to turn around and look at me, then wrap Nick in a similar hug. 

"If I die out there... I love you, say it back." I announce.

"Love you." He mumbles, holding me tight.

George stays quiet. I pull out of the hug.

"I love you. Say it back." I try again, staring at the back of George's head. He ignores it a second time. 

I walk over, wrapping my arm around George's neck and putting him into a chokehold. He shouts as I squeeze, until he taps out on my arm to forfeit, choking out: "Fine— fine— I— fine— I'll say it— let go, c'mon—" 

I release him, smiling.

He finally turns to look at me. 

"Don't die out there or I'll starve. I love you—r cooking." He says.

I roll my eyes. I could probably put him in another chokehold, but I realize it would just be a waste of time, so I accept it for what it is. I give both brothers one more hug each, then beckon for Man to follow me out. He's not dressed... very protectively, but I figure we'll find him some clothes in the suburbs before going into the city city, so it should be fine.

I glance up, seeing the barely-there sun in the sky, then walk up to my car. I open the door and just stand there, waiting for Man to catch up. It seems he remembers how cars work, because this time he opens his own door and gets in without a question. It makes me smile.

I hop in soon after, starting the car so the AC is running. I'm not sure how well Man'll understand, but I decide to give him a run down before I put music on and focus on driving. He isn't aware of the 'trade' part yet, so it might be smart to inform him.

"So..." I start, already getting stared at. There will probably be a lot of that today. "We're gonna go to a couple different places, do a couple different things. The first thing on the list is clothes for you. Then... depending on the time, we might spend a little time looking for my cat and grabbing some antiseptic. I also have to run an errand for Nick. After that, we'll probably go home."

Man nods.

I pause, waiting. I... expected him to ask what the errand was, but he's dead silent, just staring at me. I sigh. I really need to learn to expect nothing. 

"Okay uh— the errand is a secret from George, so don't talk to him about it." I say, like Man talks to anyone but me. He nods. "We're meeting up with some guy named—" I pause. I already forgot. "Some guy, for a trade. Nick told them we have guns to trade for a part he needs for a project. They've also got my favorite book. Here's the thing... we're gonna rob them blind. We don't have guns." I say then laugh.

His expression goes severe. "I'll kill them." He says.

My laugh is cut short as I fish mouth for a moment, shocked. "No— that's not— no. We're just gonna— get the stuff and get car in the car and leave. We're gonna threaten them. We don't need to kill them." I clarify.

"But it—" He starts, looking confused.

"No." I interrupt. "We don't need to kill them. Promise me you won't kill them. Okay?" I say, staring him down.

I cannot believe I'm having this conversation right now. Man finally nods, I hope in understanding. I blow out a tense breath.

"Ready to go, then?" I ask.

He nods. I nod back, then tap to turn the radio on.

"Martial Law declared in—" plays over the radio just as I turn to switch it to aux. It's the same message it's been playing for months. I wonder when it will die out.

I hum, scrolling through my music. One of my greatest regrets is not downloading more music while I still could. I only kept a couple playlists downloaded, because I never even considered the fact that someday the internet might not exist. 

Thankfully, one of the playlists I kept downloaded was my driving playlist. I tap shuffle a couple times, until I land on a song I like, When You Die by MGMT, and turn it up. I briefly sway to the intro music before managing to focus on what I need to do.

I shift into reverse and get turned onto the road. As soon as I'm driving in a straight line, I'm singing. 

"Go fuck yourself—" I sigh out, head tilting in rhythm with the music, "You heard me right! Don't call me nice, again." 

Man makes a noise from the seat beside me. I stop singing, and turn to look at him. His brow is drawn tight, his eyes focused on me. 

"I didn't." He says.

I blink at him. "Didn't what?" 

"Call you nice." He says.

I think it's in earnest. I blink at him again, paused for just a moment in confusion, before my expression melts into one of humor and disbelief. 

"I was— the song. I was singing." I clarify, tapping the radio's display.

He follows my finger with his line of sight, looking dreadfully concerned. 

"Music?" I ask. "Y'know? Singing? Songs? The radio?" 

He stares me down, then shakes his head no. I have to blink again, drawing in a massive breath. Okay. How— what— 

Okay.

I lean in toward the radio, cranking it as loud as I can bear it. Man's eyes dart around, like he's searching for the source of the noise. 

"This is music. Just listen, you'll probably like it." I say, voice raised over the radio, as it switches to the next song, Note to Self by Mild High Club.

I screech along to the instrumental, hands briefly off the wheel as I play the air guitar. I glance over, seeing Man is watching me like an exhibit and crack into a smile. 

"Am I listening when you tell me, baby? I hate to see you doin' like this—" I start singing along, barely paying attention to driving, staring right at Man. 

He seems... more confused than confused, eyes darting to watch my face then down to watch my body sway with the rhythm of the music.

"'Cause these things, they take some time to realize." My eyes flutter shut for just a moment as I listen to the music, blissed. I can't believe Man isn't familiar with this.

When I open them again, I'm still being watched, Man's expression as severe as it can get. 

"The other way still exists— AH—" I yelp, fumbling for the wheel as I catch sight of a broken down car in the middle of the road that I nearly slam us into head first.

Damn. I'm... stupid. 

I switch my attention back to the road, taking a heavy breath. It's silence other than the music, until I start to mumble sing along again. I spare another glance toward Man, despite knowing better, and find he's... nearly smiling, watching me with a much softer expression.

Something that's seeded itself deep in the pit of my stomach blooms, branching warmth into my chest up to the base of my throat. He's smiling. Even if he still looks stiff, confused. 

He's smiling.

"Maybe I'm— making poor decisions—" I start to sing again, face warped into a beaming smile. 

Though, this time, I focus on the road. We've got another hour of this.


	9. The Secret in Victoria’s Secret

As the trip goes on, Man's expression changes, almost like understanding, or, at least, acceptance of the concept of music. By the time we pull into the parking lot of the shitty suburbia mall we're going to ransack, his fingers tap along to the beat of the music where they rest in his lap.

"—you're really driving me mad—" I mumble along to the last few lyrics of a song, before I shut the car off and the music stops.

As I turn to Man, I could swear I see a flicker of disappointment. I twist, getting into the backseat and dragging my backpack up into the front. Once it's in my lap, I focus my attention to Man who's dutifully staring back. 

This should be a given... but...

"You— you are familiar with the concept of zombies, correct?" I question. Better safe than sorry.

His brows knit, but he nods. I beam, slapping my hand down on his shoulder. He turns his face toward it, and I quickly retract, nerves blooming in my stomach.

"Okay— uh, great. We might see one today, keep an eye out. Uh— do you know what clothes you like to wear?" I question.

He shakes his head no. So, it's up to me.

I could be... selfish, take him to get nice clothes that are going to hug his frame and make him look good, but... I decide we'll just go into the Target. It's got a wide enough variety, it's sure to have his size, and it's definitely not going to be emptied out.

I'm thankful for that, for shitty suburb malls. The stores inside the cities are pretty much... gutted, cleaned, but there wasn't enough time or people to return the same energy to the stores in less populated areas. Plus... everything spread so fast, the last place you'd want to be is a massive building filled with people.

I hop out of my car, swinging my backpack over my shoulder, waiting for Man to do the same. The last time I was here was... months ago, honestly, so I'm not sure what to expect, if I need to expect anything. People and zombies are so uncommon it seems... unlikely that there will be anything that surprises me. 

I note Man has attached himself to my side and start to walk in the general direction we need to go. We get to the Target with relative ease. I try to hop a single hip-high barricade, realize I can't because of my ankle, and force Man to lift me over it before he hops it himself. We then walk through the front doors. I honestly... yawn, taking some extra time to crunch broken glass with my boots for fun. I glance at the beat to shit shoes Man has on, and decide shoes will come first. 

"Follow me." I command after grabbing a cart, keeping an eye out for any unwanted company, but not being too concerned. 

The real danger will lie within the city. 

Once we get to the shoes, I point. "We'll probably want to pick a couple. So look through and just grab what you want." I say, starting to look at them myself. 

I end up finding a pair of boots before I have any idea what his shoe size is. All I know is that it's big, big enough he didn't fit into either of my brother's shoes. I look to where he is, then stride over with the largest shoe I could find. I find him crouched, holding... the ugliest sneaker I could ever imagine.

"Uh—" I start, and he turns to look at me, lifting the shoe. 

"I like this." He says.

I suck my lower lip in, staring at it. It's— God, it's really ugly.

"Why don't we try this one on first..." I say, eye-balling the shoe like it could physically hurt me. 

"Why?" Man asks.

Uh—

"This is a protective style. It's safer." I say, pushing the boot at him. 

Please take the boot.

He has free pick of any shoe in this store and he's... he's... that. He's going for that. He nods and takes the boot, walking away with it. I blow out a breath of relief. He ends up trying on both, and liking both. I decide we'll just take both, but if the sneakers happen to disappear, the sneakers happen to disappear. We also grab him slippers, a better pair of sneakers that aren't ugly, slides, and a second pair of boots for farmwork.

We move onto clothes. 

I learn quickly his tastes are... incredibly plain. We end up with neutral and earth-tone shirts, a few pairs of black shorts, a couple colors of sweatpants, and two pairs of jeans, not counting the jeans I force him to change into. We find a variety of other clothes, socks, boxers, long sleeves, henleys, over-shirts, hoodies, and a decent jacket. I also snag myself another dress while we're around, might as well, y'know?

Once we have his clothes, we should be done, should leave, but... I turn the cart, heading deeper into the mall. 

We're going to Barnes and Noble. I need something new to read. 

On the way there my attention gets caught on the Victoria's Secret, no— not for lingerie. I just... I like their lotion... and their soaps... and their perfumes. They all smell so... nice...

I glance over at it, then glance over at Man. He looks... dreadfully severe, alert, and serious for me to be doing what I'm doing.

I shouldn't...

I can't...

C'mon it's—

"Hey." I start, slowing to a stop, eyeing the store. 

I want lotion. I want soap. I am stupid.

Man turns as I address him. "I need you to stand right there and keep watch." I say, pointing at the entrance to the lingerie store. 

I am only so strong.

Man nods, then walks over, taking his post. I smile at the immediate obedience. I hope he stays put, I really don't need him wandering off or into the store.

"Okay. Stay out here. I'm going to be just a second." I mumble, slipping into the store.

I bee-line, not wanting to waste any more time than I'm already wasting. I quickly select a variety of scents, holding them in my arms. I grab a greedy amount, arms filled as I turn to leave, eyes locked to Man obediently waiting at the exit.

But... I freeze. There's movement. 

From the corner of my eye I watch as the employee entrance slowly opens. From it, walks a shambling, directionless, reanimated corpse. It has one arm, it's other rotted into soiled cloth and crumbling flesh. I pause for a moment, considering.

It looks like it might have been a beautiful woman once. What's left of it's hair shows off a delicate curl pattern. It's face shape could have been cute. But now, it's sallow, cheeks sunken, rotting, gone. 

I delicately kneel, dropping my haul of soaps, lotions and perfumes to the floor.

It's weird to think about and consider this figure. She was probably once a clerk here, got turned, then got trapped in that backroom at some point. I wonder if her soul remains? If she'd thank me for killing whatever is— possessing her corpse.

I lift my fingers to my knife, pulling it from my pocket and flipping it out. I walk toward the zombie, cool, calm. Once I'm closer to it, it seems to notice, charging me, gnashing it's jagged teeth.

Ew.

I stab my knife forward, directly through it's throat to it's spine, then lift. I get... delightfully coated with a spray of blackened, spoiled blood as the flesh rips, and it's head is cut from it's body. 

As the detached head falls to the floor with a thump separate from the body. Man appears, quickly approaching, concern etched on his face.

"I got it, I got it. No worries." I mumble, retracting my knife. 

I wipe the blade on my pants and gag. It smells... horrific, oppressive, almost. Usually the smell doesn't get to me so badly. I must have forgotten the smell of real rot, how strong it is, and the way it clings to your nose. I look myself up and down, then sigh. Maybe the smell will scare these guys we're supposed to meet. 

I look back up, seeing Man is still bee-lining for me, look of concern etched only deeper. 

"What?" I manage to ask, as he grabs me and jerks me in a direction.

Suddenly, right where we were standing, from the employee entrance erupts a writhing mass of zombies, tangled together, teeth and hands snapping out toward us. I consider the amalgamation for a moment, and catch my eyes on partially severed limbs, melted to other partially severed limbs. I also notice the smell has gotten... significantly stronger.

Surprise! I nearly throw up in my mouth.

"Run—" I grit out, breaking away from Man and fucking bolting with my hand covering my nose.

I don't know what the fuck that is, and I don't want to find out. I make it exactly to the enterance of store, before I notice I'm alone. I turn to look at Man, desperate, just in time to watch him dash for a wall. The zombie—mass—thing seems to be tracking him, which I'm grateful for. 

I briefly consider my options.

Take the opportunity Man has afforded me and finish running away and hope he lives, or— 

Or—

Fuck me. 

The thought of leaving Man here alone has my chest drawing tight, bile rising in my throat. I take option two. I step up, drawing my knife back out, briefly wishing I had something with a bit more reach. 

I watch Man's movement, seeing he's a step ahead of me. He jumps over a display, to where an in-case-of-fire axe is encased in glass. He snaps his fist out to shatter it, then pulls the axe from the case.

Right. I remember him talking about axes.

Still, that thing is so fucking close to him— I can't—

I shout, trying to draw the amalgamation's attention. It's successful— somewhat. The few corpses on the back snap their attention toward me, jerking their limbs out, clawing and scrambling to move for me instead, the other half remain focused on Man. It creates a stasis, where all of the zombies are held in place, desperately jerking toward both of us, bodies moving and twitching.

It's the perfect opportunity for Man. He swings the axe with a practiced ease. It's pointed, direct, impressive. A single head rolls from the mass to the floor. Before there's a reaction, he swings out again, and again, each followed by a sickly thump of rotten flesh landing on the ground with a splatter. 

The corpses on his side all give their last few spasms before going limp, which means... it's now moving at me. Just me. Fast. 

I lift and angle my knife, ducking to the left. If I can pick them off one by one, starting on this side I should—

I blink, then watch as Man swings out again, something utterly... calm, etched on his face. The force of his swing is frightening. It's enough that his axe severs the head of the zombie on the right, through the middle, then halfway through the neck of the one on the left.

Weighted down by the five other zombies that are now limp, the amalgamation collapses to the ground. The single zombie left thrashes, twitches, it's lifeless eyes staying locked to me as it reaches out.

I step forward, pocketing my knife. I place my boot on the face of the zombie to hold it in place and keep it down, just so that it doesn't manage to bite my ankle, then wrench Man's axe from it's neck. With the axe, I take a moment to balance it in my hand. I swing down with force, shouting desperately as I do so. 

The wound sprays again, and this time, I taste the rot land in my tongue.

"Oh my fucking God why did I open my—" I pause to gag. "—my fucking—" I gag again. "—my fucking mouth what is wrong with me—" I fully wretch, this time, pacing away, trying to get the taste from my mouth, dropping the axe to the floor with a clatter.

It's awful. Repressive. I can't— it's— oh my God—

I flail with my hands to reach my backpack, ripping it open. I grab the bottle of rubbing alcohol, uncap it not fast enough, then take it like a shot. I swish it in my mouth, and though it burns, the taste of rot fades. 

I spit the alcohol to the floor, pulling my water form my bag next, and collapse to sit on a random display and drink it. 

"That was the worst thing I've ever tasted—" I say, looking up at Man who's approaching me. "And I literally used to buy two-dollar cheese pizzas— what?" 

Man stands at my side, face set, body held tight. Theres a small tremble in his arms that I don't understand. Maybe he's afraid of zombies? I reach toward him in an attempt to catch his arm and soothe him. He flinches away before I can make the contact. I try to look at his eyes, but he won't look at me.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" I ask.

"I'm sorry." He says, voice lifeless.

I squint in confusion. "Sorry for what?" I ask, going to reach for him again, but stopping myself.

"You said no killing."

I freeze, hands twitching in place, trying to figure out what I need to say. He's scared of... me. I start with as soft and as calm of a voice as I can manage. 

"Hey. Look at me." I mumble. 

He does, for just a second, eyes darting up to meet mine before flicking back down. His face is utterly... unreadable. 

"No one's gonna hurt you. It's okay. I know you were helping me." I say, quiet. He glances at me again, for just a bit longer, expression vulnerable. 

"That was about humans, okay? You killed zombies. You didn't break any rules." I say, careful. "You were protecting me, it's okay." I continue. 

He doesn't look... fully relaxed, but, his breaths get deeper, slower. It's probably the best I could hope for.

"I'm going to touch you, but that's all. Okay?" I say, then reach out again.

This time when I make contact, he lets me, though, he does twitch. 

"It's okay." I soothe, running my hand down his arm so I can find his hand and take it. Once I reach his hand, I find it held tight in a fist, dripping blood.

Oh right. He punched a glass case.

"C'mere." I say, soft, tugging his sleeve to guide him toward me. "Let me fix you up." 

Man listens, stepping closer until I can take his hand with both of mine. I look up at him, see the severity etching his face, then carefully unfurl his fingers until his hand is spread. Some of his blood drips onto me. 

"This looks like it hurts." I remark. "Thank you for taking the pain to save me. I know you don't like it." I speak, still trying to placate the tremble I feel from him.

This time, when I look up at him, he actually meets my eyes. 

He nods. 

I grab my alcohol bottle again, God's liquid, and pour. There are a few cuts, one large gash across his palm, and many small ones on his knuckles. I don't bother with antiseptic, and instead wrap his hand with gauze, tight. Once I'm done, I hold him at the wrist. 

"All good?" I ask, staring up at him.

Most of severity in his expression has given away to vulnerability again. He flexes his hand into a fist, then nods at me. I smile, lifting my hand to give his abdomen a friendly slap, retracting into my space to break our contact. 

I blink at him, curious. "So... you do that often?" I ask, alarmed with the ease he used to sever two and a half heads with a single swing.

He shakes his head no, and I nearly jump to call him a liar. Before I can, he speaks.

"I've never killed a zombie." He says, then blinks at me.

I suck my lower lip in. Does that mean—

"Have you done that to people?" I ask, staring at him, his mouth opens, and I jump back in. "Don't answer that— actually. I decided I don't want to know." I say, then grin.

His mouth snaps shut, but he nods. 

We have a moment of silence where we stare at each other, a tension I don't want to acknowledge buzzing between us, before Man's eyes catch. They flick up, and I watch as his brow twitches inward like a question.

I turn, looking behind me, and see nothing through the legs of the mannequin. 

I turn back. "What? What's that look on your face?" I ask.

Man raises his hand, then grasps something above my head. I tilt my chin back to look, and see he has his hand planted directly on the breast of a mannequin.

What.

I bolt up to standing, grabbing him at the wrist and removing his hand. 

"Wh—what— why are you—" I start, stuttering. "Don't do that—" I chastise.

His brow ticks inward, but he steps back. He lifts his hand, now pointing at the mannequin I was sat next to, specifically at the black and red lace lingerie he was grabbing. 

"What is that?" He asks.

I whine. Why do I have to fucking live my life like this? What God did I affront to deserve this?

"Bra." I say, and that's all I say.

"What does it do?" He asks.

I roll my eyes back in my head, feeling embarrassment start to crawl my skin.

"It's— for women. It's clothes for women." I say.

He drops his hand, but his eyes fix to me. Not one to chicken out, I meet them, staring him down.

"Do you have it?" He asks.

I nod. "I do. I have several." I say, then pat my chest. "Right here." 

Man blinks, then pats his own chest. "I don't." He says.

He can't be—

My lips twitch to smile. "Yeah. You don't have tits." I say, then slap his chest. 

I step away from Man, eager to end this conversation, then go pick up the soaps I left on the floor. I carry them past him to the cart, dumping them in. 

"C'mon." I say, beckoning him to follow. 

We still have shopping to do. Hopefully we won't have to face another monstrosity.


	10. Ouch

I've always loved new books. As much as I like old ones, and the dusty aged smell they carry, there's something particularly pleasant about the crisp pages of a new book, the elasticity of the spine, the—

"But why do you need it?"

I run my hand down my face. I can't believe we're still on this. We made it to the Barnes and Noble like I wanted to, but Man's brain is still stuck on the lingerie, it seems.

Men.

"It— it holds my— chest tissue— in place." I say.

Man's brow twitches in, and he reaches for me, more specifically, for my chest. "Can I see?" He asks.

I yelp, slapping his hand away.

"No. Absolutely not." I chastise, taking a step back. 

I can't fucking deal with this.

I consider the book I'm holding, and realize I don't have to. I have a brilliant idea. Best one this week, honestly. Someone should pat me on the back. 

I head to the educational section, find a book (with pictures) about sex education, and toss it into my cart with the rest of our haul.

Done in the store, I wave for Man, and he positions himself at my back, closely following me out. As we loop back past the Victoria's Secret, I pause, considering.

Maybe I should grab that axe—

Just in case.

He was good with it.

I look at Man, then look at the store. I don't want him coming inside with me and fondling any more mannequins. But... I don't feel particularly safe entering the store alone. 

"Let's make some signals, like a— like a word or something, so that I can tell you when I need your help, yeah?" I say.

Man turns to me, nodding, just waiting for my command. 

"Uh—" I stutter out, trying to think on the spot. My eyes dart rapidly, trying to take in and process the visual information around me, searching for a word. "Lace—" I sputter, mind on the lingerie, before I can stop myself.

I close my eyes and huff. It's not a bad word, I guess. 

"Lace." I double down. "Or, if—" I lift my hand, touching my middle finger to my palm in a rhythmic tap. "I do that. If you hear me say lace, or see me do this—" I repeat the motion. "—with my finger, in any situation, it means listen to me, find me, watch me, help me. No holds barred. All. In." I look up, watching as Man nods. "Same goes for you. We on the same page?" I ask.

"Lace or—" He repeats back to me, lifting his hand to rapidly mimic the motion I showed him, then drops his hand and blinks, like that was a whole explanation.

I laugh, brief. "Yeah. You got it." I try to encourage.

I slip into the store, quickly lifting the axe. 

...If I also grab the stupid fucking black-and-red lace bra and panties set off the mannequin and stuff them into my backpack, that's just so they're off my mind. 

Don't question me.

Man and I make it back out to my car with minimal trouble. He has to lift the cart over a few obstacles, but, what else is he good for?

We unload everything, then get back in my car. Once we're settled, I notice the time and blink in surprise. 

We're actually running a little late. 

"Shit." I say, quickly turning over the engine.

I feel Man's eyes on me, and despite him not asking a question, I issue an answer. 

"We're uh—" I lift a finger, tapping the radio display. "—running late. We're 'sposed to meet at noon in ten minutes. We're fifteen away." I look up at Man, "Guess I'm gonna have to gas it." 

I rev my engine, as much as a shitty station wagon engine can rev, then start to book it down the road, headed into the city.

We're meeting these... people, on fifth, and because we're barely going to make it on time, I don't have liberty to scope anything out. 

Oh well, soaps, perfumes, and books are more important. I blame the human condition.

And the monstrosity that attacked us. 

We would've had plenty of time if we didn't have to battle that— thing.

I focus on driving, and manage to make it to fifth in twelve. As we pull up I tense, taking in the scene. In the middle of the street is a black SUV, looking distinctly out-of-place and yes-we-do-organized-crime, with two men standing outside of it. 

Here's the real kicker: they're each wearing, fully covered from the neck-down, black tactical gear.

Tactical gear I've seen before.

Tactical gear I essentially cut off of Man. 

I turn, eyeing him.

"You know who they are?" I ask, quiet, parked just down the street. 

The two men seem to notice, turning faces directly toward me, and fixing them in place to, I assume, stare. 

Man shakes his head, looking as lost and concerned as I feel. I fix him with another look. Considering my options, it might be better if...

"Stay in the car." I command, then turn to open my door.

Man whines, darting an arm across me to hold the door shut. I turn to look at him, staring him down. Our faces are right next to each other, close enough I can feel his breath.

"Not safe—" He says.

I don't have fucking time to get flustered.

I plant my hand on his wrist, pulling it away from me. 

"You are staying in the car. I am going alone. If I need help, I'll signal you." At that, I tear my door open, feeling wary.

I don't know who these guys are, in any sense, other than the half-assed explanation Nick gave me. But, I get the distinct feeling they've got something to do with Man, and it won't be wise for them to see him. 

I'm kind of— going into this fucking blind.

Lady luck don't fail me now.

One of the men steps forward, the smaller of the two, though still distinctly larger than me. The other sticks close to their vehicle, holding a duffel bag. Which, I assume has what I'm here for.

"Are you uh— blood— or— was it— blaze maybe?" I ask.

"We are associates of Blade." The approaching man says, then turns to look at his partner with an unreadable expression. 

Damn. 'Blade'. I was close, right?

"We're here to meet with Pandas." The 'associate of Blade' speaks again. "Who distinctly sounded like a man." 

Nick, bubs, really? Pandas?

I fight to not smile. I can't fucking believe the nickname I gave him at eight is the name he gave these guys. 

Thankfully, I maintain my somewhat serious facade. 

"He's in the car." I say, swinging my thumb over my shoulder. 

Both men crane their necks, looking past me, peering toward my car in the distance.

"You'll be dealing with me! If that's alright." I say. Both of their eyes snap back to me. I shrug. "I mean, it better be alright, because this trade won't happen if it isn't and that would be such a waste of time—" 

The closer man grunts, interrupting me. 

"Fine. Show us the weapons." He says, then nods toward my backpack.

I tilt my head. "What? The guns are in the car, this thing is full of panties." I lift my arm behind me, pulling the panties I just snagged from the top of the bag, then hold them spread out in front of me. 

I look up at the puzzled man, grinning. "Do you think I'm fucking stupid?" I ask, antagonistic.

The closer man nearly snarls, taking an aggressive step forward, looking much more serious.

"Enough with the fucking games. Show us the guns." 

Ah, maybe I should stop playing.

"Fine. Sheesh." I stuff my new panties back into my backpack, chewing my cheek. "Show me what's in the bag first. I need to make sure it's all there." 

"It is." The man in the back speaks up, voice low and growled. 

I lean back to look at him, meeting his eyes. "Thanks. But I need to see it myself." 

"Not happening." The closer man grunts.

I roll my eyes, looking back to him. 

"Well, I'm looking in the bag or this deal isn't happening." I say, then shrug. "What are you so scared of? There's one of me, and two of you." 

The man in front of me turns, making eye-contact with his cohort. After an extended moment, I'm beckoned forward. I step up, walking up to the SUV as the man holding the duffel swings it up onto the hood and unzips it. He keeps one hand firmly planted on the bag as I lean in, looking.

Nick described to me the object he's looking for: small, jagged, lots of red wires— there. I spot it, laying amongst the other pieces and parts. 

Looking in the bag, I squint.

Curiously, I don't see any books. 

I look up. "Where's the book?" 

The man in front of me looks genuinely puzzled, looking right back at me. 

"What book?" He asks.

Ah.

Mhm.

Nick, you mother fucker. 

He baited me into doing this. They don't have my book.

Jokes on him. I'm not risking my life to rob these people if I'm not getting my book out of it.

I take a step back, giving a tight lipped smile.

"Deal's off." I say, simple, then turn to walk away.

Naturally, it isn't so simple. 

I can't quite reach my knife in time as hands shoot out, landing on my arms, holding them together behind my back at the wrist, dragging me back toward the SUV. 

"Ow—" I whine, trying to jerk away from the grip, but it holds fast.

"What?" The smaller man bites out, he's not the one holding me. 

I roll my eyes. "I said deals off. I don't want to trade. Changed my mind." I say. "Sorry." 

The smaller man growls. "You're not just walking the fuck away. We're doing this, whether you want to anymore or not." 

I blink. "That's kinda creepy, dude." I say, then jerk to escape, again.

I continue to be held in place, unrelentingly.

I really can't reach my knife? Not even one?

"Let me go. Or I'll call Pandas—" I say, half-bluffing. "And he'll kill you—" I should self-preserve. "—if you hurt me."

The smaller man smirks, then pulls my knife from my hip. I freeze, watching as he lifts it, then presses it to my throat. 

"New deal. You give us your guns or—" He shifts the knife, holding the tip against my skin until it presses in, light as a papercut. "I'm going to kill you." 

Damn. 

Damsel in distress three times in a row?

Is the post-apocalypse just sexist?

Also, thanks for this one, Nicky. They sure seem like swell guys to make a trade with. 

Distracted by my own thinking, I nearly miss the click of my car door opening and slamming shut. I only notice when I hear murmurs, and a shift of the situation's energy.

"Look—" The man holding me breathes out. 

The man holding a knife to my throat snaps his head around to see, and I manage to refocus my eyes.

I watch, sighing as Man steps out of the car, approaching, axe in his hand, staring straight at me with a set expression.

Damnit. I had it.

I mean...

I shift my arms, feeling that they're still held fast. I didn't have it yet, but, I might've, soon.

The smaller man turns forward, an alarmed look on his face. He looks past me, making eye contact with the man holding me.

"That's him—" He breathes out, and I go stiff, realizing there's something awry. 

"Dude, Blade is going to be ecstatic with us we're—" 

"Dude we're set—" 

"Take care of the girl—"

"Yeah I got it—" 

There's a rustling, then I feel something poke my abdomen. I look down, and freeze again, stomach dropping. I see a gun held to me, the head of it pressed to the soft of my belly, hard, sharp.

Delightful.

Am I about to die?

The smaller man turns, stepping away from me and toward a severe looking Man. 

"Nightmare—" Knife guy calls out.

Man's head snaps toward him, anger and malice carving and warping his expression into a place of pain I've never seen it been before.

"Blade's been missing you." He says.

The anger melts from Man's face, descending into something cold, neutral, though, in his eyes I can see the fear. It's in the way they flick, narrow, the rise and fall of his chest increasing. He looks to me, his hands tense at his sides, his eyes piercing. 

Permission? 

You want permission? 

"He's been looking all over for you. He's really upset." The shorter guy continues, stepping toward him.

Man freezes, then takes a few rapid steps back, curling in on himself, his eyes flicking between me and the other two.

"If you run away again, I'm going to tell him. It won't be good for you." 

I hear Man whine, see the panic in his face, feel the gun pressed to my stomach.

I promised him he wouldn't be hurt anymore. 

I promised. 

"I think it's time for you to go home." The smaller man says.

I couldn't agree more.

"LACE—" I shout, getting the shorter man to turn and look at me. 

Man's expression sets back into something violent, and things spur into motion. 

I kick out behind me, hooking my foot around ankle the man holding me, then tilt forward, collapsing us both to the ground. As we fall, I hear the crack of a gunshot, and look up, worried. Man seems unfazed in his movement, so it must've not hit.

I have to put all of my focus back on getting free, trusting that Man is taking care of the other creep. 

We land to the concrete with a crack, my chin slamming into in the ground. I can still feel the gun, incredibly sharp, pressed between my stomach and the ground. It dizzies me for a moment, but I manage to collect myself, ripping one of my wrists from the man's grip. 

I take my knife that I keep at my chest, lift it, then stab it into wrist of the man's hand holding the gun, all the way through, into the ground, staking him there. 

The man shouts in pain, just as I hear shouting of absolute agony from in front of me. I can distinctly tell that it isn't Man who's lost that fight. 

I plant my palms to the ground, pulling myself from under the other man, just in time to watch as Man darts in. He's swinging his axe. I can see that it's dripping with blood. 

I look to his face.

It seems similarly coated.

I close my eyes just before I hear the choked scream that turns into a few sputtered blood-gurgled gasps, feeling the blood spray hit my face.

Not the first time today.

But this one is distinctly warm, coppery. 

Human.

Alive a couple seconds ago.

Another fucking life, gone, I guess.

Two hands land on me, rough, pushing my shirt up.

I snap my eyes back open, watching Man desperately pulling at my shirt where it's soaked in blood.

"Hey—" I shout, thrashing, trying to get his hands off of me. "Leave it— It's not my blood— I'm fine—"

Man whines again, opting to rip my shirt open with his hands, exposing my stomach.

Oh.

Hm.

I lift a hand, that I now register is trembling, and run my finger tips along what is distinctly a bullet wound.

In my stomach.

Ouch.

I pry my eyes away from it, looking up at Man, sure his panicked expression is a mirror of mine 

"Uh— that uh— I guess that is my blood—" I manage to say, just before my eyes roll back in my head.


	11. Names

I shift my eyes. They feel heavy beneath their lids, but I manage to pry them open.

The first thing I see is the soft glow of an overhead light. I recognize it as the light inside my room. My brows tick inwards. 

Am I home right now? I don't remember getting home.

I think for a moment— and remember a few things. 

The first, I flick my eyes down to confirm. I see layers of gauze plastered to my stomach. Yeah, I definitely got shot. 

The second, I look around again. Yeah, I'm definitely at home, laying in my bed. Thus, Man got me home. I'll have to ask him about it. 

I stretch my legs. They feel sore. I yawn, lifting to stretch my arms next, followed by a few soft noises. The second I move, there's banging, clattering, and two very familiar faces pushing to be in my line of site. 

"Oh thank fucking God—" 

"You alright? Can you talk?" 

I hear Nick, then George, respectively.

I blink at them, slow, swallowing around my tongue where it sits heavy in my mouth, collecting myself to speak. 

"Bubs—" I mumble, careful, landing my eyes on Nick.

He leans in closer, expression vulnerable yet tight. I tilt my chin back, just to make sure he hears this.

"Fuck you." I say, then close my eyes and settle back in to sleep.

*** 

The next time I wake up, I feel less heavy, more floaty.

I try to sit up, realize I can't quite yet, then just barely shift, getting my body settled. I stretch again, and this time, yawn. 

"How long I been out?" I ask.

I get the same face-full of worried brothers. 

I look past them, and see Man as well, hovering a few steps back.

"All day— are you feeling alright?" I hear George ask.

I blink, rapid, focusing my attention on him. Damn, all day?

"It feels like I got shot." I say, then lift a hand, pressing my palm to the wound. 

It feels like I'm moving in slow motion, my hand numb as it connects to my body. 

"Am I drugged?" I ask, staring at my fingers.

George huffs a laugh, though, it sounds shallow. 

"You are, and you very much did. Luckily, the bullet missed everything important. I patched you up, so you should be fine other than a cool scar you can brag about in a few weeks if it doesn't get infected." 

I stretch again, still coming to.

"Did you keep the bullet? So I can make it into an earring or something..." I mumble out.

George huffs again. "It went straight through. There was no bullet to keep." 

"Damn." I sigh. 

"I'm so sorry I—" Nick starts, hovering at my side. 

"Fuck you." I say again, quick.

Nick makes a noise, and George asks a question.

"Why are you saying that? What happened?" 

"Ask him. Ask him what happened." I grumble out.

I hear the silence of Nick getting stared down for only a moment before he breaks, explaining the situation. Before he's even halfway through, George smacks him upside the head. Which... fair.

Once Nick is done, George turns his glare to me. 

"And you agreed to it?" He questions. "I'd smack you too, if you didn't have a gaping hole in your stomach." 

"Hey! I'm not gaping." I pout, rolling my eyes back. "I only went because he said they had a copy of Wisteria. You know how I feel about Wisteria." I turn my gaze to Nick. "Fuck you, by the way." 

He protests. "I didn't think you'd get shot! I thought it was fine to—"

I interrupt. "To lie to me? About the one thing I want? Fuck you." I repeat, again.

This time, Nick whines. 

"I'm sorry—" He expresses.

I continue to pout, turning away from him. 

George sighs. "What matters is that you're okay." He says, then blows a stressed breath. "Do you feel okay?" He asks.

I turn my eyes toward him, settling into my body, feeling it out. 

"I mean..." I start, twisting my fingers in the fabric of my sheets. "Other than the fact that I'm kinda hungry—"

The words are barely out of my mouth before Nick bolts to standing.

"I'll cook you food." He says, eager to please, then nearly runs out of the room.

George turns all the way back, watching Nick go, then keeps craning his neck so he can stare at a hover-heavy Man, who's wearing one of his signature strained expressions. 

When George finally turns to look back at me, his expression is understanding. 

"I'll go make sure he doesn't burn the house down trying to do whatever it is he calls 'cooking'." George says, then lifts to standing and follows Nick out.

I stare at my lap, watching my fingers pick the fabric of my blanket, gnawing on my lip. There's a tension in the room, in the way Man in holding himself, in the way I'm holding myself. 

"I'm sorry—" Man chokes out. 

I finally flit my eyes up to look at him. He looks... hurt, like he's the one that got shot.

"For what?" I ask.

"I almost got you killed." He says.

I shake my head. Even if there's some validity in the statement, we're all culpable

"It's not your fault." I say, watching his expression set only further.

Man doesn't say anything, just takes a step back, away from me, his head hanging in shame. I huff a sigh, flicking my eyes around the room, trying to figure out how to start this conversation, ask the questions that burn at the tip of my tongue. Those guys knew you? You drove me back? Did I bleed on my car? What comes out is:

"So— Nightmare, huh?" 

Man recoils, visibly sinking in on himself the second the word passes my lips. 

"Is that your name?" I ask.

He nods.

I consider. "Why don't you use it?"

He speaks, looking surprisingly small. "I hate it." 

"Why?" I ask.

Man finally looks up, a quiet whine in his throat and a broken expression on his face.

"It means bad dreams. I hate bad dreams." He says, staring me down this time.

I meet his eyes, worrying my lip, then lift my hands, beckoning him in. He needs this, I need this. His eyes flick down, darting between my hands and my face. He doesn't move.

"C'mere. Hug time." I state. At that, he strides forward, collapsing into the bed without another question.

I grunt as he lands. "Watch the— watch the stitches— ow—" I groan as he moves, crawling over top of me, pressing his face into my neck, small snuffled whines low in his throat. 

The second we're settled, his hands massive and warm where they rest on my body, I feel like I can breathe. I land my hands on the back of his neck, carding my fingers through his hair.

I'm briefly thankful for whatever drugs George pumped me with, because I'm too high to be embarrassed right now.

"You don't remind me of a bad dream." I say, sighing and petting down the back of his head. 

Man shivers, taking a shuddered exhale, hot against my neck, pressing himself impossibly closer, until his lips rest on my skin.

My eyes briefly roll back in my head, the mental cap of my medicine making me forget to have shame.

"You're like a good dream. I mumble. "My good dream. My strong dream. My dream." I hum. "What if I called you that instead? Good Dream— or— Dream?" 

How high am I right now? Sheesh.

He presses into my neck, mouth open against my skin as he speaks. 

"Dream?" He asks.

"Dream." I double-down. 

It's stupid, but no more stupid than 'Man'. 

He nods into my neck. I drop my hands to his shoulders. Some of the tension tightly stringing his body seems to melt away. It feels... good, to have that out of the way. But, I have more to ask.

"So, Dream." I start, trying the name, feeling the way it rolls off my tongue. "How did we get here?" I ask, still processing the fact that we're home right now, lightly dragging my fingers along his shoulders. 

"I brought you home." He says.

I tilt my neck back, trying to settle, feeling how close he is every time he speaks and his breath ghosts my skin. I swallow. 

"How?" I ask.

There's a moment of pause before:

"Car." 

He really likes to pick and choose with his details. 

I hum, dragging my hand along the collar of his shirt. It's one of the Nick's shirts, oddly enough. At least it's one of my favorites, soft, grey. Careful, I push my hand into the collar, dragging it down his back, skin to skin.

"You know how to drive?" I ask, then brush along his back with my finger tips, feather light.

He shivers in my arms, whining and pressing his entire body as close to me as he can get. He nods. 

I consider for a moment, him behind the wheel of a car. It makes me laugh, quiet, small. I can't imagine it.

"I'd love to see that. You're gonna drive for me sometime." I say. "When I'm better." I tag on. 

He nods again.

I continue to move my fingers, trying to soothe the tension he's holding onto. He feels... miserable, stiff. I keep going, working with my hands, until his body finally relaxes. I notice as time goes on, he starts to mirror me, his hands moving in similar motions to mine where they rest on my body. He drags his thumb along my waist, pinching and playing with the fabric of my shirt as he goes, careful to avoid my wound. 

I'm hesitant to ask this, but it needs to be asked. Sooner rather than later. 

"Did you lie to me?" I ask.

Dream stiffens again, his hands freezing in their movement. 

"Did you know those guys? Or did they just know you?" 

As I ask, he shifts to hide in my neck. 

Right when I think I'm not going to get anything, he nods, then speaks, quiet.

"I didn't remember them before. I knew them after they said my— name." A pause for a shuddered breath. "I will never lie to you." 

I feel something drop in my stomach at the words. He just loves to say crazy shit like that.

"Not your name anymore." I mumble. "Who are they?" I ask. 

Dream's body stiffens further, back to where we started, if not worse. His breath gets quicker, more shallow, labored. I feel him twitch to move, and sink in with my fingers, holding him in place against me. 

"Stay right here." I demand, pressing my thumbs in, rubbing to soothe.

He whines, but listens to me. 

We continue in silence, him trembling beneath my palms, until finally, he speaks.

"I remembered some things." He mutters. 

I hold tight, trying to keep him grounded through this.

"Can you tell me about it?" I coax.

He nods, collecting himself before he speaks. "Blade is the man I worked for." He starts, tentative. I nod encouraging. 

"He's the one that would make me kill." He continues. "I don't know why. But if I said no, they'd hurt me a lot." 

I swallow, processing that. 

Was he even treated like a human? Or was he literally just this sick fuck's kill dog? 

Still— it doesn't make sense—

He sounds, at the very least— valuable? And the men we just met wanted to bring him back to Blade— but the only other person I saw in that basement he was left to rot in was a man in their uniform, who didn't seem too keen on bringing Dream home.

"Then why the fuck were you in that basement?" I ask.

"I can't tell you." He says.

I blink. "You don't know?" 

"No." Dream says, shaking his head into my neck. "I know why. I can't tell you." 

I pause, posed to press for information, but feel Dream start to tremble in my hands again. I exhale, releasing it. Maybe that's not the best choice right now.

"That's okay. You can tell me when you're ready." I say. 

A silence descends, but not for long.

Nick walks back into the room, holding a plate with toast that I can see is burnt.

"Ew." He says. "What the fuck?" 

Dream presses in closer, unashamed. Still high enough to not care, I cradle his head against me. 

"I got cold." I say, smug, obvious bullshit. My room is always hot.

Nick curls his lip, just staring at where Dream is burrowed. He blinks, rapid, then seems to shake the feeling, flicking his eyes back to me. 

"Where you want your toast?" He asks.

I smile at him, sly. 

"My hands are busy, could you help your poor sissy out and feed it to me?" I ask.

Nick looks disgusted with me. "No— you're sick in head if you think—" 

"I got shot." I say, simple, and his mouth clicks shut. "I got shot and it's all your fault." 

Nick's expression falls to a place of guilt. I pout up at him, false innocence. He sighs, and despite his grumbles, steps forward, sitting down at the head of my bed, tearing a piece of toast and bringing it to my mouth. I have to try to not laugh as I accept it, and start to eat.

Nick's quickly distracted again, staring where Dream is pressed into me with a look of contempt. I keep chewing, and he keeps staring. 

"More toast please!" I coo, then nearly unhinge my jaw. 

Nick's attention snaps back up to me, and he tears another piece to give me.

"I'm gonna get crumbs in my bed." I say, around the new mouthful of toast, looking up at Nick.

He shrugs. "Okay... then wash your sheets." He says.

"You wash them for me." I say back.

"I'm not—" He starts.

"I got shot, by the way." I interrupt, grin predatory.

Nick stops, lifting his hand to press his temples, blowing a massive sigh. 

"Fine." He says. 

I laugh in his face, then tap Dream's shoulder, looking down at him. He looks up, puppy-eyed, meeting my gaze. It briefly turns my stomach tight. 

"Hungry?" I ask.

He nods. 

I wriggle an arm free, lifting it to the half-eaten toast, and hand it off to Dream. 

"You'd really give away my toast? The toast I slaved over for you, to him?" Nick says.

I look away from Dream, back up at him.

"I got shot." I say. "And it's your fault." 

This time, Nick just glares, shaking his head. 

"It's not funny." He says, quiet, almost soft, a crack at the end of his voice.

I lower my eyes, blinking in guilt. As scared as I am, as hurt as I am, I'm sure he's hurting too. I flick my eyes around the room, collecting myself before I look back up. 

"Did you— did you uh— did you at least get your part? Wouldn't wanna get shot for uh— nothing." 

Nick nods, looking a little relieved that I'm speaking to him normally. 

"Yeah— I— yeah. I got what I needed and more, hopefully." He says.

"Have you tried to put it in yet?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Haven't been able to focus." 

I give him a half smile, reaching over to grab his wrist and squeeze. "I'm fine. You don't need to be here." 

Nick shakes his head, tapping his fingers against his leg. "I don't want you to be alone—" He says.

I roll my eyes, tugging my hand back so I can pat Dream's shoulder. 

"I'm not alone. I've got dreamy." 

Nick immediately grimaces, but a smile spreads his lips. 

"Dreamy? I know you stare at the guy but dreamy? Bold." He asks.

I laugh, smug, jamming my hand right back down into Dream's shirt. He shifts, done eating, settling back into me, pressing his face right back into my neck. 

"It's not bold." I start. "It's his name." 

"His name is Dreamy?" Nick asks, incredulous.

I shake my head. "No. Just Dream." 

"Dream?" He asks back, looking no less concerned. "Dream?" He repeats.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah. That's what I said." 

Nick turns his gaze to Dream, then catches his eyes on the hand I have stuffed down his shirt. He blinks, rapid, then shoots to standing. 

"I'm gonna work in the barn. If George asks, I'm building another solar panel." He says, eyes flicking between the two of us. 

I nod, settling back into the weight and warmth of Dream on top of me, not a care in the world.

Nick walks away, gets to the door, then pauses, looking back.

"I'm glad you're okay." He says, and he means it. 

I smile up at him. "Love you, too." I coo. 

He shakes his head, but I can see his lips twitching to smile before he turns and walks away. 

Alone with Dream again, I let the silence over-take. It's not an awkward silence— just an exhausted one. I drag my fingers along his skin, then adjust, until I'm scraping down his back with my nails, not-quite feather light. 

His entire body goes stiff, muscles tensing under my fingers. I make a noise, pouting. 

"What? What's wrong?" I ask.

He lifts from neck, just to stare me down, rolling his shoulders against my hand.

"What is that? What are you doing?" He asks.

My brows twitch inward, a look of confusing settling on my face.

"A back scratch?" I ask, then drag my nails again. 

I watch, delighted, surprised, as Dream's eyes immediately fall shut, a heavy breath passing his lips. 

"You like that?" I ask, repeating it. 

He nods, whining as I do it again. It sends a shock of heat to my core, looking at him vulnerable in my hands like this. 

"Lay back down. Let me give you a good scratchin'." I say.

He nods again, then carefully pushes his face back into my neck, pressing against me with his full weight. 

I keep moving my hands, careful, attentive, until the tension melts from his body. This time, as he relaxes, his breaths slow and his body melts, until he goes limp. 

He falls asleep. 

The second I realize, I pull my hand from his shirt, bringing it up to push the hair from his eyes and stare at his face. He looks... so much different like this. He looks like he isn't carrying the weight of the world on his back. 

Eventually, Dream's rhythmic breaths settles me, too, and before my drug-addled brain can process that I shouldn't, I fall asleep wrapped up in his arms, pressed underneath of him, warm, safe.

***

I wake up to a weight on my chest, familiar— yet not— quite—

Why do I distinctly remember— falling asleep— with Dream on... top of...

Oh my God. 

Heat climbs my face, embarrassment rolling in my core. We slept in the same bed because I was too high to fucking care. I groan, loud, lifting a hand to drag it down my face.

I finally crack my eyes, staring down to meet eyes with Dream's cat. She perches on my ribs, staring right back.

"You look smug." I mumble out to her, then try to shift. 

The second I move, there's a sharp pang in my side, sharp enough I cry out. I realize quickly that I feel a little too present, and that the pain meds must've worn off. It's probably what woke me up. I groan, looking to the side of my bed, praying George is kind enough to have left me some morning meds. 

I find no medicine, instead, I find a long stemmed flower with a honey yellow bloom. I turn, carefully, so as to not disturb my wound further, and lift it into my hands. 

What the fuck?

I bring it to my face and inhale.

It doesn't smell like much.

Still I wonder— ow, ow, ow, ow—

My focus shifts back to reality, the sharp cuts of pain ever present, throbbing in my side and cutting into my cognition. God that fucking hurts. I need to find George. 

I brace myself, grimacing through the pain as I manage to sit up. The cat jumps off me as I go, walking away. I nearly cry out as I manage to swing to my feet, lifting to standing. 

It sucks to be shot. I should never get shot again.

I support myself, cradling my stomach, limping to the bathroom. There, I prepare myself to go outside, as well as take some ibuprofen using tap water. 

I limp back out of the bathroom feeling only mildly better, if not just from the mental placebo of knowing I will actually feel better soon. 

I get to the staircase, then stare down it. I make it a single step down, the movement putting me into enough pain I could scream, then pause. Staring down the stairs, they seem like a daunting task. As I glare at it, Dream's cat brushes against my ankles before smoothly running down them. At the bottom, she turns back to look at me, then meows once, like she's gloating. 

"Yeah, yeah. Rub it in." I grumble out.

She looks at me, turns, and walks away. 

I grit my teeth, white knuckling the banister, then decide I have to force it. 

I walk down the stairs, fast, trying as hard as I can to ignore the burning shocks of pain that rip through my body. I've been stabbed before, and it's about what each step feels like. 

I nearly collapse at the bottom of the stairs, folding in half, taking labored breaths to steady myself through the pain. Once I'm calm again, I notice that there's no noise inside the house. Instead, I perk my ears, listening as I hear shouting and commotion from outside. 

I limp forward, heading right for the front door, and rip it open. 

I see first that it's raining. I see next that, in the middle of the front yard, sliding through the forming mud and grass, Nick and Dream are wrestling, smiles plastered across their faces. 

I open the screen door, taking a single step out onto the covered porch. This air is humid, wet, the misting rain doing not-much to cool the summer heat.

"Christ— what are you doing up— and— and down here?" I hear George question.

I turn to look to my side. He's bolting up from his seat, reaching for me.

"I came to beg for meds." I say, as he grabs me and manhandles me to sit down.

I wince at the motion, but feel grateful.

I look up at him. "Please? It hurts." 

George nods. "Yeah, yeah. I'll get them." He says, then turns away, going inside.

I turn back to look at Nick and Dream, noting they're still absorbed in what they're doing, and haven't noticed me yet. I'm startled from looking at them by a weight on my thighs, and look down, surprised when I see Dream's cat has hopped up into my lap.

"So you like me now?" I ask, then card my fingers into her fur, down her spine. 

I turn my eyes back to the boys, keeping watch, until Dream turns, sees me, and freezes. He lifts a hand to wave at me, distracted for only a second. Taking advantage, Nick kicks out, and Dream goes straight down, hitting the ground with a thud. 

I hear Nick holler, pumping his hand in the air, victorious. 

I have to hide a laugh in my hand, watching Dream lift himself from the mud, absolutely covered in it. He doesn't spare Nick a second glance, striding straight for me the second he's standing. He walks up onto the porch, a smile still on his face, wiping his hands on his shirt. He takes a semi clean hand and pushes it forward, petting down the center of the cat's head. 

"Why'd you leave me?" I ask, curious as to why I woke up alone.

In a way, I'm happy for it. It definitely seems like the trust I've earned is being awarded to my brothers as well. 

"Nick asked for help." He says, eyes locked to my face as he keeps petting the cat's head with his half-muddy fingers. 

"With the— farm-work?" I ask.

He nods again. 

"Hm." I say, then lift my hand, catching him at the wrist, pushing his hand back. "Stop. You'll get her dirty." I chastise. 

I look at his other hand, and see it's still wrapped in gauze. I briefly remember him smashing a glass case and getting his hand cut. I make a note to have George look at once he's done with me. 

"Patches won't mind." He says, then puts his hand back on the cat.

I look up at him, brow furrowed. 

"Patches?" I ask.

He extends a finger, pointing it at the cat. "Her name." 

I blink. 

I pass out for one single day and suddenly he's friends with my brothers and named his cat?

"Patches is a cute name." I say, then look up at him. "Good Dream." 

He smiles wide enough I can see his sharpened teeth poking out from behind his lips.

"Patches is a better name than Bear." George says, directly behind me.

I try to turn and look at him, not realizing he was already back outside. I don't make it. My eyes get caught. Sitting, with all of our vehicles, at the side of the house, is a large black SUV. The one from yesterday. 

I squint at it.

"Why the fuck is that there— and—" I scan with my eyes, coming up empty. "Where the fuck is my car?" I ask.

Nick laughs, walking up the porch. 

"I don't know. You guys showed up in the—" He thumbs over his shoulder, looking like he's searching for the right word. "The— crime-mobile." He says. 

I level him with an annoyed stare.

"What!" He says, shrugging. "I'm just telling you what happened!" 

I squint at him, then turn my gaze up to Dream. He meets my eyes, having already been watching me. 

"Where's my car?" I ask.

He eyes flick across my face, neutral.

"Where it was." He says. 

Where it was?

Where it was? 

"You left my car?!" I nearly screech, then actually yelp as I get stuck with a needle in my arm. 

I turn my glare to George, who ducks his head, sheepish. 

"Thought I could catch you off guard. Might hurt less if you're not thinking about it." He says, as explanation.

I sigh, having to let it slide. I would be angrier if my attention wasn't already focused elsewhere. 

I look back up at Dream. "You left my car?" I ask.

He nods.

"Why?" I whine out, pouting. "I love my car— all of our things—"

He keeps staring me down. "I don't know how to drive it." He says.

I blink, looking over at the black SUV again. "But you know how to drive that?" I ask.

He nods. 

"It's the same—" I start, frustrated, then huff.

Bitching will get me nowhere. 

"We're going back to get my car." I say, shooting Dream a pointed glare. "As soon as I'm healthy. We're going back to get it." 

He nods.

"Let me change your bandages." George says, and squeezes my shoulder.

Still glaring at Dream, I grab my shirt, lifting it up over my ribs. His eyes flick down, fast, locking to my exposed stomach unabashedly. 

"Have Nick do it—" I start, then point at Dream. "He got his hand cut pretty bad when were out. There was this— fuckin'— freaky little thing I'll have to tell you about when I'm more present. You should look at it." I say.

"Please don't make me—" Nick starts, but it's too late.

George shrugs, slapping a roll of gauze and a bottle of ointment into my other brother's hands, walking straight up to Dream.

"I hate you." Nick says, but carefully lands his hand on my stomach, peeling back the bloodied gauze. He looks... queasy as he does so. 

I huff a laugh at him. 

"Sorry bubs." I say. 

"Where's the cut?" I hear George ask, and look back up.

He's holding up Dream's now unwrapped hand, looking at it.

"It should be— it was like on his knuckles and across his palm." I say.

George searches for a moment longer, and I feel the cold sting of alcohol hit my wound. I draw my legs tight, pain sharp in my stomach. 

"There is— nothing here." George says. 

I roll my eyes. "Are you blind? It's right on his fucking hand." 

George turns to glare at me, then jerks Dream by the wrist, lifting his palm for me to see it. It's completely unscathed, other than a large scar across his palm exactly where I remember the cut being. 

"Uh—" I start, brows drawing in. "I swear it—" I blink, trying to remember exactly what I saw, but my thoughts start to fuzz, the medicine seeping into my system. 

"You hallucinating?" George asks, looking at me with genuine concern. "Did I give you too much?" 

I shake my head. "No— I swear it—" 

I flick my eyes up to Dream's face. He looks... guilty.

"Why's your hand healed?" I ask, pointblank. 

He shifts from foot to foot, then shrugs. 

"I have to be ready to fight." He says, like that... makes sense. 

George snaps his attention to Dream. 

"What? So you did have a cut?" He asks.

I suck on my teeth, flinching as Nick finally slaps on a gauze patch, pressing on my wound.

"Is this the part where it's revealed he's got super powers and he's not human? Because he doesn't act particularly human. I won't be surprised." Nick says, grinning.

I lift a hand to smack his head.

"What!" He protests. "We were all thinking it!" 

I turn my eyes up to Dream, searching his expression. It's not... quite anything. It's neutral, unaffected, his eyes still locked to my stomach. 

"How'd you heal your hand?" I ask.

Dream's eyes flick up to meet mine, brief, before they flick right back down. 

"I just heal fast." He says, simple.

I mean, I can get that. Some people have quick recovery time, but—

"What about your stomach?" I ask, remembering the time spent treating his stab wound. 

Dream grabs the bottom of his shirt, and tugs it up, revealing a wound free stomach. Right where I remember there being a stab wound, is a softly raised scar.

"What—" Says George.

"The fuck?" I finish for him. 

I exhale as Nick slaps my stomach, finished dressing my wound, and tugs my shirt back into place. He turns to look at Dream's stomach himself. He whistles, low, when he sees it.

"What'd I say? He's a fuckin' alien!" Nick banters.

I swing my leg out just to kick him, gaze locked to Dream, who's staring right back at me. This time, our eyes meet. 

That's uh— that's certainly something.

That's certainly something.


End file.
